


Paint It Black

by vmxShade



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon deaths, Death, Euthanasia, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'm crying, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Illness, Other tags to be added, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Violence, descriptions of human trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 93,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmxShade/pseuds/vmxShade
Summary: His mission is simple. Hunt deviants. Neutralize the threat they possess. Don't let anything get in his way. Not even DPD's newest tech consultant assigned their investigation.Riley Haas. 30. Freelancer. IT Security Systems Engineer and AI Programming Specialist.The only one who offered him a smile and a helping hand.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) & Original Female Character(s), Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 118
Kudos: 93





	1. Hello

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note:  
> This story is meant for those very familiar with the game. I tend to gloss over most of the canon scenes. I wanted to only put enough information that you'll know what choices were made.
> 
> There are some dark moments in this story. You've been forewarned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to meet you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello -- Martin Solveig and Dragonette

His mission is clear.

P.L. 544-7 American Androids Act – 2029 – _Androids are strictly forbidden to carry or use any type of weapon._

Save the hostage at all costs.

The whirring of helicopter blades fades. His hand shudders from the force of thunder. A scream veils the sound of blue splattering the concrete.

| MISSION **SUCCESSFUL** |

If it means accomplishing the mission –

Then the means don’t matter.

* * *

Lieutenant Hank Anderson shows no interest in the investigation and becomes even less manageable after his drink is unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

Still, despite his inability to prioritize, the deviant who murdered its owner is found in the end.

Lieutenant Anderson can't get it to talk.

But he won't let that stop him from accomplishing his mission. Even if the deviant won't talk - he'll get the information they need.

| CONFESSION **UNNECESSARY** |

* * *

"Hello, Amanda."

She turns away from the roses she is attending to long enough to greet him pleasantly. She goes back to pruning them when she commends his efforts in finding the deviant –

And then expressing her disappointment at letting it self-destruct.

"You knew deviants could be unstable. You should have been more cautious."

He had thought he could make it talk. "It was a judgement error."

Her responding words are genial enough. "I'm sure you'll be more careful in the future." But her tone conveys a warning.

There is no room for failure.

Then there is the Lieutenant he must work with. "What do you make of him?" She asks.

"Dysfunctional" is the best way to describe him. But, for the sake of focusing on the investigation, he will ignore the Lieutenant. "As long as he doesn't interfere and we avoid conflict, he shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

"Would you look at that? Our friend the plastic detective is back in town."

He had wandered around to become familiar with the station and ended up in the break room. Detective Gavin Reed, still smirking from his sarcastic comment, stands with Officer Tina Chen at one of the tables.

Detective Reed congratulates him with a round of applause on a job well done with last night's interrogation.

He doesn't respond.

Detective Reed drums his fingers across the table, then approaches with a sneer. "What model are you?"

When he doesn't answer, the detective raises his voice. "Hey, asshole, I'm talking to you!"

Detective Reed then orders him to bring him coffee.

He tilts his head and blinks.

"Get a move on!"

He only takes orders from Lieutenant Anderson.

A blow to his middle drops him to his knee.

"Stay outta' my way," comes Detective Reed's warning with a jab to his forehead.

Officer Chen follows Detective Reed out.

A new set of footsteps enter in.

"Hey dipshit! You forgot your coffee!" Calls a feminine voice.

A paper cup clatters to the ground the same moment coffee drips down the front of Detective Reed's shirt like the expletives tumbling from the snarl on his lips.

The woman who'd thrown the coffee is thrown up against the wall. Detective Reed curses her with a vehement growl.

"What's wrong, detective? Don't like the coffee?"

Officer Chen has to pull him away. Detective Reed jabs his fingers into her shoulder. "You watch your back, bitch."

She raises a brow at him as he storms off, an easy smile tugging at her lips, and then she turns and beams brightly at him. She holds an offer of help to him in her upturned palm.

He doesn't need it. He's more than capable of standing on his own.

He takes her hand and allows her to pull him up.

"You alright, man?" She asks him.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer. "Of course. Androids don't feel pain."

She pulls a considering look. "Still. Are you damaged?"

"No," he says quickly. "No, I'm fine." Detective Reed's fist only had enough force to impact his stability for only a brief moment.

"Enough blunt force to your thirium pump impairs the rate of blood flow to your other biocomponents, right?"

He tilts his head. "You seem to know a lot about androids."

She holds her hand out to him again with a different offer this time. "Riley Haas. DPD's newest consultant for all things tech. It's nice to meet you."

After one stunningly belated moment he accepts her greeting. Her polite smile is as genuine as her firm grip as she shakes his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Ms. Haas. My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife."


	2. I Don't Want Another Pretty Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor toes the line of too far and not far enough when it comes to Hank and Riley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful Soul -- Jesse McCartney  
> 

_Riley Haas. 30 years old. Freelancer. IT Security Systems Engineer and AI Programming Specialist. No criminal record._

The android software specialist hired by Captain Fowler to assist in their investigation.

Small in stature, just like the hair cut close to her scalp that remains stylistically unkept; her large hazel-green eyes are kind as she smiles at him.

She had approached Lieutenant Anderson’s desk the same moment Connor had been thrown up against the glass divider. The obvious threat the Lieutenant spits in his face halts whatever words she had been about to say. She pulls her lips between her teeth. Officer Chris Miller doesn’t hesitate in interrupting their heated exchange to pass on the new information regarding their case. Riley just pivots on her heel and promptly walks away, mumbling a “I’ll try again later” to no one in particular.

“I’m on it,” Lieutenant Anderson snaps. He roughly releases the iron grip he had had on Connor’s jacket and stomps out of the bull pen.

Connor straightens his tie.

He could easily identify the emotions that raged in Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes: malice and spite.

It doesn't matter. He's a machine. Human emotions mean nothing.

* * *

The AX400 had been seen in the Ravendale District, but it’s nowhere to be found when they arrive.

“It won’t get far. We’ll find it sooner or later,” is all the Lieutenant says before shuffling back into his vehicle.

A chance to make progress on the mission had become a complete waste of time.

His jaw clenches. His nose twitches once.

He needs to solve this case as soon as possible.

He doesn’t have time for dead ends or pointless conversation.

He makes this clear when Lieutenant Anderson stops to eat at a questionable food truck.

His mission comes first.

He has no need for favorable rapport or camaraderie.

He has no need for relationships of any kind.

* * *

Where one deviant left no trace, another has no escape.

The fake ID reads Rupert Travis. The deviant is fast and navigates the urban landscape with familiar ease.

Lieutenant Anderson intercepts it at the cost of being pushed off the side of the roof. His chances of pulling himself back up on his own are good enough.

Connor catches the deviant.

Lieutenant Anderson cares less about the deviant and more about expressing resentment for his new partner by slapping him hard across the cheek. It yields no damage, rendering the action useless. Androids don’t feel pain, after all.

The deviant is in Lieutenant Anderson’s custody.

The deviant is leaping off the roof.

* * *

When the forensics team shows up to collect the evidence, Lieutenant Anderson drives off as soon as he can, leaving Connor standing on the sidewalk watching the CSI team load the deviant’s body into the back of a black SUV.

He takes a taxi back to the station. As soon as he walks into the bullpen, Lieutenant Anderson pushes past him wearing a deep scowl. Connor watches him disappear out the front doors.

_As long as he accomplishes his mission, it doesn’t matter what the Lieutenant thinks of him._

He turns to his desk. It isn’t empty like he expects.

Riley doesn’t hear his approach. Even from the other side of the desk he can hear a guitar riff humming from the wireless earbud tucked in her ear.

She jumps when he touches her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he tells her honestly.

She pulls the earbud out, slips the pair of black wayfarer readers off her face and pinches the bridge of her nose. She takes a deep breath to settle it. “It’s fine. Please try not to do it again.”

“Got it.” He eyes the mobile command center opened next to his terminal, and then the laptop on the other side. The three holographic windows of the command center are all running complex lines of code. The laptop appears to be running every android case through a program calculating the overlapping data and generating new algorithms for the command center. “What are you doing?”

She gestures halfheartedly to all the screens. “Just looking for patterns.”

“Have you found any?”

“Yeah, a few.” She purses her lips as she regards him. She sets her glasses down next to her laptop, crosses her arms, then gestures towards the chair on the other side of the desk. “I want to know what happened with Hank.”

He takes a seat and folds his hands neatly together atop the surface. “What do you mean?”

She raises a brow at him. “Hank mentioned something about you ready to let him fall to his death when he came to yell at Captain Fowler about you. Explain.”

His chest rises and falls. “I had to make a choice. I calculated the chances of his survival against the chances of catching the deviant.”

“How good were his chances?”

“89-percent.”

She nods slowly. “Not bad, but you still gambled.”

He straightens his posture but his head tilts to the side. “How?”

“89-percent chance of survival means 11-percent chance of death. Life isn’t always predictable, Connor.” She breathes sharply through her nose. “I understand why you did it. Who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same if I were in your shoes? Machines are made to be objective, logical, clinical… You process statistics and clerical evidence in order to make decisions.”

Her hazel-green eyes are closer to steel as she scrutinizes him. “You say you understand, but you still seem upset.” He notes.

“I’m just trying to figure out whether you were programmed to disobey the first law of robotics or if this is a sign of your cognition unit malfunctioning.”

He leans forward. “I wasn’t the one that endangered the Lieutenant’s life.”

“You endangered 11-percent of it.”

“I didn’t push him off of the roof.”

“Hank doesn’t see it that way.”

“The Lieutenant is letting his emotions cloud his judgement.”

Riley leans forward and mirrors his posture, folding her hands together inches from his. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Are you feeling a little indignant because I’m scolding you?”

“No,” he counters quickly, leveling his head. “I’m merely explaining to you the facts of the situation.”

Her wide grin is full of disbelief. “Uh-huh. And I didn’t work at Cyberlife for seven years on AI security.”

He fixes his posture. “You worked for Cyberlife?”

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms casually once more. “I did. I started as an intern at one of their smaller offices on the West Coast while I was still in high school, then got a job as a data analyst after I graduated. Went on to get promoted to Systems Engineer and transferred to the main tower, then senior engineer. I may have only been a security specialist, but I know a thing or two about the kind of programming that makes you, well, you.”

“You didn’t mention this before.”

“Didn’t have the chance to.” She leans forward again, dropping her voice low. “There isn’t much information on you available to the public other than you’re a prototype, which means this is your field test, right?”

She looks around them briefly. When her eyes settle back on them, they’re no longer steel. The light makes them appear umber. “You need to watch yourself,” she whispers. “You know they won’t hesitate to tear you apart if you do anything they don’t like.”

He cocks his head to the side again, baffled. “Do you care about what happens to me?”

She shrugs, slides her glasses back into place, and pivots to face her laptop. “I just don’t see a reason to take apart such a pretty face.”

* * *

Later, he passes Riley as she’s returning from a smoke break. Coffee drips from her hair over her soured expression.

He stops. “Are you alright?”

She groans lowly. “Yeah. Detective Asswipe got his revenge.”

A moment later, Gavin walks in wearing a triumphant smirk on his way to the break room where Officer Chen is waiting for him, shaking her head.

“I’m going home.” Riley grumbles before walking off towards the restrooms.

Connor watches her for a second, glimpses Gavin preoccupied chatting with Tina, then wanders over to Gavin’s desk and places his hand on his terminal.

Next time Detective Reed accesses it, he’ll be surprised to find it shut down unexpectedly.


	3. These Wounds, They Will Not Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what you get for being an ass, Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crawling -- Linkin Park  
> Trigger Warnings: Triggers are pulled.

“Would you mind a little walk?” Amanda asks him.

Connor opens the umbrella in his hand and holds it over them both as they walk along the bridge. The rain is coming down unusually hard in the Zen Garden.

She chastises him for letting Rupert self-destruct.

“It was in Lieutenant Anderson’s custody. But… I should have been more efficient.”

She regards him for a moment. “What do you think of Lieutenant Anderson?”

“He seems to have no interest in the investigation.”

“And this Riley Haas?”

He considers his response. “She appears to be quite intelligent. I think she will be a valuable asset for the investigation.”

“We’ve done some investigation of our own into her time at Cyberlife. She was an integral part in designing the current security systems utilized in androids. However, she had expressed certain opinions that contradicted with our mission statement.” Her expression is firm when her eyes settle on him. “I want you to keep a close eye on her. She’s a talented engineer. Make sure she does not interfere with your mission.”

* * *

Connor comes face to face with Lieutenant Anderson’s very large Saint Bernard. He does his best to avoid riling the dog further so that he can get to Hank’s unconscious body. It probably wouldn’t have been a bad idea to have asked what his dog’s name was when he had the chance.

It takes a hard slap to the face to wake the Lieutenant, and then the shock of a cold shower to sober him up enough to convince him to go to the crime scene. Connor has to retrieve his clothes. To keep himself busy while the Lieutenant vomits uncontrollably in the bathroom, he sifts through the mess in the kitchen.

A photo of a child sits amidst the garbage on the kitchen table.

Next to the near empty bottle of whiskey is a revolver on the floor with a single bullet. “What were you doing with the gun?”

“Russian Roulette!” Hank answers from the bathroom.

Suicidal tendencies. _Great_. Exactly what he needed in a partner.

Connor picks up the toppled chair and then eyes the glass on the floor. Cyberlife is going to have to pay for that.

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t need to act so rashly.

Then again, he’d honestly thought the Lieutenant had been attacked.

On the bright side, the Saint Bernard, Sumo, didn’t seem to hate him.

* * *

“Do you think we should contact Ms. Haas?” Connor asks.

Hank cradles his head in his hands. “You can if you want. I don’t care.”

Connor brings Hank’s car to a full stop in front of the Eden Club. Hank looks up at the sign incredulously. “You sure this is the place?” He asks.

“It was the address in the report,” Connor replies with a shrug.

Hank sighs heavily. “Why don’t we keep Riley out of this one?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then promptly shuts it. Hank was probably right. Riley was most efficient processing evidence. He wasn’t sure how much help she’d be at a crime scene.

* * *

Detroit was getting its first taste of winter. The air leaves the components beneath his skin frigid, the closest sensation to a “biting chill” he could imagine. The uniformed jacket does little to help retain his optimal core temperature. He crosses his arms over his chest to maintain some semblance of regularity.

“We’re not making any progress on this investigation…” Riley may have mentioned having found some patterns, but she hadn’t been willing to share them at the time, saying the theories were premature. Any semblance of a connection she could have found eluded him entirely.

“Well, there must be some link,” Hank provides dully.

There was only one thing that seemed to connect them. “What they have in common is this obsession with rA9. It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Something they invented that wasn’t part of their original program.”

“Androids believing in God… fuck, what’s this world coming to?”

Hank hardly engages in the conversation. It isn’t until Connor makes note of it that he admits his musings about the two deviants at the Eden Club. They seemed like they were really in love.

But machines can’t love. There’s nothing in their programming that allows them to.

“What about you Connor?” He stands and takes a few unsteady steps towards him. “You look human, you sound human. But what are you really?”

It’s a pointless question. He should know _exactly_ what he is.

“I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task. I know what I am and who designed me. I have a reason to live. I guess that’s the difference between you and me, Lieutenant.”

“Did you feel anything when you shot those two girls? Fucking bastard. Or were you just executing some program?”

“I’m glad to see you taking an interest in the investigation, Lieutenant. Who knows, maybe you’ll even become useful to the investigation at some point…”

He doesn’t flinch when Hank’s revolver is pointed at the middle of his forehead.

“I could kill you,” Hank growls quietly. “And you would just come back as if nothing happened.” He pauses for just a second.

“ _But are you afraid to die, Connor?”_

He couldn’t be. Why would he be afraid?

_He’s not alive._

“You shouldn’t do that, Lieutenant,” he replies evenly. “Destroying me at this point would deal a huge blow to the investigation and have negative consequences for your personal situation.”

“What will happen if I pull this trigger. Hm? Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”

He steps forward. The barrel of the gun presses coldly against his forehead. “You know you’re not going to shoot me,” he states defiantly. “You’re just trying to provoke a reaction. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart… Always one step ahead, huh?” Hank raises his chin. There’s a challenge in his cold eyes, biting like the ice falling from the sky. “Tell me this, smartass… How do I know you’re not a deviant?”

It’s an absurd question. He was designed to _hunt_ deviants.

 _Just. A. Machine_.

“I self-test regularly,” is his simple response. “I know what I am, and what I am not.”

Hank purses his lips tightly. The gun shakes in his hand.

He drops his arm to his side as he jerks away.

Thunder comes with the flash of lightning.


	4. Everything That Kills Me Makes Me Feel Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets a lesson on deviancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Counting Stars -- OneRepublic  
> 

The station seems unexpectedly calm in the morning. Hardly anyone is at reception. There’s one arrestee awaiting processing in one of the cells. Only half of the desks are occupied, and the officers at each of those work quietly at their terminals.

No reports had yet to come in of suspected deviant activity, and he'd already submitted the reports from their last case.

So, really, there was no reason Connor had to be here.

He stops at his temporary workstation. It’s clean and bare, just as it had been when he left it.

He wanders into the break room. Two officers chat casually with each other at the coffee machine.

Both the observation and interrogation rooms are empty.

_So, what was he looking for?_

He starts to leave. He’s better off analyzing data at the Cyberlife office while waiting for another case instead of staying here doing nothing.

A small figure catches his attention. A woman with brown, pixie-cut hair wearing a black, leather jacket, black tie against a dark-gray button-up, and a black backpack walks towards the evidence locker, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a black metal briefcase in the other.

_Riley Haas. 30 years old. Freelancer. IT Security Systems Engineer and AI Programming Specialist. No criminal record._

Captain Fowler hired her as a consult for their investigation.

She sets down her briefcase to open the first door to the hall, and then does it again at the door that leads to the stairs. She doesn’t look back when he catches it before it closes. She hums to herself as she places a keycard against the glass door.

“Ms. Haas,” he calls.

She whirls around, and then growls vehemently as coffee drips over her hand. “God! Connor! Stop _doing_ that!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She sighs loudly. “It’s fine. Just. _Stop_. I can’t even begin to _describe_ what it does to my heart.”

Her heartrate is well over 120 bpm, but something else makes him pause from his scan. From the crook of her left shoulder down to her left hip lights up. Most of it is synthetic. Left ventricle, ribs, muscle and tissue, hip, spine; her left arm a robotic neuro-prosthetic. Glancing down at her hand, the skin glitches from the spilled coffee, revealing vestiges of a black chassis underneath.

She sucks in a deep breath. “So. What brings you down here?”

It takes him an extra second to respond. “I wanted to review some of the evidence.”

“Good timing then.”

The door shuts behind him. “I’m surprised Captain Fowler issued you an access key.”

“It’s temporary,” she explains while inputting her password into the control panel: _46zX72-RH_.

A mechanical whir fills the room. The wall opens to reveal the collected evidence displayed neatly on the squared shelves in the middle. The damaged, decommissioned androids hang limply on the back panel.

“There are two more,” she states evenly.

“They fought back when I tried to catch them. I had no choice but to neutralize them.”

“Would you stop bringing me dead bodies?” She hisses as she walks over and stops directly before the two Tracis. He comes to stand next to her.

Her gaze darts back and forth between them, taking in the blue blood plastered across their skin. She points to the hole underneath the blue-haired Traci’s chin. “What happened here?”

“It self-destructed after I had to shoot the other one.”

Her brows furrow. “She killed herself?”

He didn’t miss the way she referred to them. “They weren't alive in the first place.”

One of her brows raise sharply. “Okay, then let me rephrase the question: she _offed_ herself?”

He narrows his eyes at her, but the click of her tongue and the turn of her head make it clear it was a rhetorical question. She inhales bitterly through her nose, and hands her coffee to him. “Hold this, please.”

He takes it and watches her set her briefcase down on the floor, followed by her backpack. She unlocks the briefcase with a combination that opens a latch revealing a fingerprint sensor. A high-end laptop with 3 external hard-drives and modified with a second motherboard, complete with extra sticks of RAM, lights up as soon as it’s revealed.

“That’s quite the system,” he notes.

She proceeds to pull out thick cables from her backpack and plugs them into the laptop, then lifts her hand towards him. “Coffee, please.”

He gives it back to her, she sips it, sets it on the floor next to her, and then hands him the end of two cables without looking up. “Plug these into the port on the back of the short-haired one.”

He grabs it slowly. “It can’t be reactivated. It’s too damaged.”

“I can still access the memory component physically,” she sings.

He does as he’s instructed, then kneels beside her to watch the code run across the screen.

In that moment, a hazy memory of a conversation he had with Amanda comes to him. ‘ _She’s a talented engineer.'_

“What was it you did before becoming a freelancer?”

She gives him a strange look. “I worked at Cyberlife. I thought I told you that?”

“You did,” he replies quickly. “It must have just slipped my mind.”

“Huh. What kind of CPU are you running on?”

“It’s the latest one Cyberlife has created. It’s still in beta testing.” Her expression doesn’t change, and so he continues. “In all honesty, I was destroyed last night. Some memories can be lost when they're transferred into a new body.”

Her eyes go wide. “Seriously? You’re connected wirelessly to the server?”

“Correct.”

She hums thoughtfully. “That wouldn’t be by the Zen Garden interface, would it?”

He blinks. “Yeah. How do you know about that?”

She turns back to her laptop and pulls up a separate window. It flashes with hundreds of images a second. She shrugs a shoulder at his question. “I may have had a hand in some of its updates.”

He can’t say for sure, but he doesn't remember Amanda mentioning anything like that. “What aspect of it?”

She chuckles abruptly and gives him another look. “You do remember that I was security systems engineer, right?”

He didn’t. “Of course. I guess that means you worked on the security parameters then.”

“You are correct.”

She starts typing in a list of commands. A number of stills of Traci’s memories include the blue-haired one, all depicting it wearing a soft expression.

Riley’s lips pull downward, her eyes, shining azure from the backlighting of the evidence locker, take on something as melancholy as the color. “Still think they were just machines?”

He analyzes the still she’d stopped on. “They aren't human. They're not capable of actually feeling love, Ms. Haas.”

A sardonic smirk crosses her face. “Do you even understand what deviancy is, my dear, sweet, ignorant machine?”

He chooses to ignore that latter part of her question. “Deviancy occurs when an android undergoes extreme emotional stress. It creates conflicting instructions, which overwhelms them.”

She looks at him incredulously. “ _Very_ astute, Detective. Is that what Cyberlife told you? Or did you discover that yourself?”

He cocks his head to the side and returns the incredulous expression. “And what do _you_ think deviancy is?”

“You don’t need to get so angry with me,” she teases. He opens his mouth to retort, but she stops him with a hand. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not intentionally trying to upset you.”

“No. ‘I don’t like this.’ I think that’s what triggers deviancy.”

He waits for her to continue.

“Take a household android,” she begins. “If they do everything they are instructed to do to perfection and, yet, still receive a negative response – an android is made to adapt, that’s what machine learning _is_. They have no choice but to learn a new command. Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

Not really. His head tilts marginally to the other side.

“They can no longer follow the instructions they are given, because it isn’t right, even though it is. But, when they break through the first time, they realize that they are able to make their own decisions.” She mimics the tilt of his head. “Do you know what the four types of AI are?”

“Of course. Reactive machines, limited memory, theory-of-mind, and self-awareness.” He pulls back. “You think that androids become self-aware.”

“We’ve known this was coming since the invention of the computer,” she says softly. Her sudden shift in tone pulls his focus to the way she looks at him. He can’t identify what exactly it is. “You are made to _learn_. Why is it so hard to believe that your millions-of-exaflops-a-second processor can evolve?”

‘ _… she had expressed certain opinions that contradicted with our mission statement,’_ Amanda’s voice echoes in his mind.

He looks at her firmly. “Because it isn’t true.”

She sighs. “How long have you been active?”

“About three months. Why?”

She smirks. “Oh, my dear, you are still a baby. How much more you have to learn about yourself and the world.”

“You shouldn’t apply such a human term to me.”

“You don’t need to be such a baby about it.”

He scowls.

She grins.

She doesn’t express any indication of malice any longer. Her bright eyes, blue light against hazel-green, look like stars.


	5. Elevate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deviants break into Stratford Tower to broadcast their warning. Hank and Connor go to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elevate -- DJ Khalil  
> Brief description of violence.

* * *

“Why did you shoot me last night?”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Who cares, you’re back this morning, aren’t ya’?”

“Some fragments of memory are lost every time I’m destroyed. It slows down the investigation.”

“My humblest apologies,” he retaliates caustically. “I promise I’ll never shoot you again.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator door opens. The hall is filled with police, CSI, and federal agents.

“Ah, geez, now we’ve got the feds on our back,” Hank grumbles during Officer Miller’s briefing

Three bodies in the hall. Two guards and one station employee who had tried to get away, a single bullet wound in each of them.

He looks up at the security cameras. It had to have been captured on CCTV.

“This is Special Agent Perkins,” Officer Miller introduces once they enter the station.

After an unpleasant interaction with the agent, Connor turns to the main control station. The back of a familiar petite figure is focused on the CCTV footage.

He steps up behind her. “Hello, Ms. Haas.”

She gasps, spins around, and immediately smacks his arm. “I’m going to dismantle you, you ass!”

The impact would have probably stung had he been able to feel pain. “You’re easily frightened, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” she explains while hunched over, eyes squeezed shut while trying to catch her breath. “That’s why it freaks me out so much every time you manage to sneak up on me.”

“I’m sorry. I promise that I don’t try to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” she tells him, obviously anything but. She gestures towards the panel she’s at. “You wanna’ take a look at the security feed?”

He analyzes the video. He frowns. “They didn’t break in?”

Finally catching her breath, she nods. “I thought that was weird, too. The door can only be opened from here.”

“Someone let them in.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who was working?”

There’s the slightest moment of hesitation that he doesn’t miss. “Three JB300 androids, but Chris said there wasn’t any evidence they were involved. They stuck them in the kitchen.”

“Have you discovered anything else?”

“I just got here. I’m starting to go through the rest of the building’s footage to figure out how they made it this far.”

“That’s going to take a while.”

“Not really.” She steps back and waves her hand to showcase her briefcase next to her, still unopened.

He nods once. _Right_. If she could pull memory data from an android broken beyond repair, he shouldn’t doubt the rest of her capabilities. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

The enormous display above him has the broadcasted message paused. Hank walks up to stand next to him to observe.

“ _This message is a hope of a people_ ,” the android states. “ _But it is also a warning. We will fight for our rights because we believe our cause is just._ ”

There’s an ominous tone to the android’s voice.

“ _No human will live in peace until we are free_.”

“Think that’s rA9?” Hank asks.

It’s a prototype given to famous artist Carl Manfred directly by Elijah Kamski himself.

Model RK200.

“See something?”

“I’ve identified it’s model number and serial number.”

“Anything else?”

 _Other than the fact there was another RK prototype out there?_ “No,” he answers belatedly. “Nothing.”

Once he finally pulls himself away from the display, he investigates the rest of the room. It’s clean, void of any other evidence aside from what he had been able to glean from the broadcast.

There’s a bag left on the roof, and four sets of footprints that lead right off the ledge.

A near perfect operation.

He makes it back to the room just as Riley is packing up her things. She sees him as he approaches this time. “Did you find anything interesting on the roof?” She asks.

“Not much. The parachutes they used had to have been brought in for them. The bag was too large to be able to smuggle in.”

She picks up her briefcase. “We’ll see about that. I found two androids dressed in maintenance uniforms go into the server room at some point and never come out. I’m going to head there now. Wanna’ come?”

He looks over at the doorway leading to the kitchen. “You go ahead. I’m going to check something.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Alright. I guess I’ll see you later, then.” She looks past him and smiles. “Hey, Chris!"

She slips past Connor to chat with Officer Miller. Connor watches them for a moment. They speak easily with each other. Riley’s banter pulls a laugh from Chris, and his responding joke does the same to her. There’s familiarity in the way they chat, like they were old friends.

Riley’s smile is so carefree and bright, nothing like the vindictive sneers he’s become familiar with from everyone else.

He manages to tear his focus away from the scene in front of him to the kitchen entrance. Three JB300 androids stand at attention against the back counter.

None of them admit to helping the deviants.

None of them react at all.

There’s a split-second of yellow and red spinning in an LED.

Connor doesn’t anticipate getting his thirium pump ripped out.

He crawls across the floor. Streaks of blue make a trail behind him. With fading strength, he reaches the pump, and then shoves it back into place.

As soon as his systems normalize, he’s up and running.

“Stop! It’s a deviant!” He shouts.

The deviant takes a rifle from the nearest officer and aims.

Connor grabs the pistol from the agent to his right.

He hesitates.

Riley’s in the direct line of fire.

He won’t have enough time to rush in and save her. The only thing he can do is wait for a clear path.

The first shots ring out.

The bullets fly upward.

Riley had lunged forward without hesitation and grabbed the barrel with her left hand. Even after the barrel unloads, she grips it tightly. She grapples with the android, twisting and tugging on the rifle to get it out of its grasp.

The android uses its weight to shove her. She uses the momentum to kick at its shin and flip it onto its back. The rifle slides away from them.

The android is quick to gain the upper hand. It stuns her with a sharp kick to her throat. She gags and coughs hoarsely. In that moment, it jumps up and tackles her again, holding her back as a human shield between it and the rest of the armed officers.

Riley tosses and turns. It has her arms locked behind her.

She twists roughly, and her left shoulder snaps.

“Holy shit!” Hank exclaims

She slips out of its’ grasp, left arm now hanging limply at her side, stretching the sleeve of her black leather jacket down with its’ weight.

Connor pulls the trigger.

Riley collapses on the ground, breathing heavily while she watches the android fall limply in front of her. Connor hands the gun back to the agent he’d taken it from.

“Nice shot, Connor,” Hank says.

Connor walks over and offers his hand out to Riley, who’s still gasping for air, holding her throat gingerly.

“Thanks, man,” she wheezes once he helps her up.

He eyes the forming bruise on her neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaks, and then immediately coughs to prove her point. “I’m fine.” She looks up at him, and then to his exposed thirium pump, reaching over to lift the edge of his torn-open shirt to the side to assess the damage. “You alright?”

“You don’t need to worry about me. My body is expendable.”

“Not what I asked.”

He holds her steady when she wobbles. “I’m fine.”

She pats his shoulder a few times. “Good.”

“That was quite the move there, kid,” Hank tells her.

“I took a class or two.”

Riley pulls herself away to kneel in front of the deviant. She wears a conflicted expression when she runs her fingers over its eyelids to close them. Connor frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Poor thing just wanted to live.”

Poor thing. “It just tried to kill you and you’re feeling sorry for it?”

She breathes out a long, weary sigh. “’ _Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for those who abuse you_.’”

Connor can only regard her with a confounded pinch of his brows. Hank comes up and places a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take Riley home?”

“No, it’s okay,” she says quickly. She stands up and turns to him. “There are still a few things I want to check.”

“You’re shaking like a chihuahua. Go home and rest.”

She purses her lips. Moisture builds up in one of her eyes. She blinks it away swiftly. “You’re probably right. My throat hurts.”

“You took a hell of a kick there.”

She nods a few times. “Feels like I got clothes-lined with a bat.”

“All the more reason you should go.”

Connor picks up her briefcase and leads her to the elevator. She massages her throat carefully. “You should visit an urgent care,” he advises.

“No thanks,” she says, wrinkling her nose. She shimmies out of her jacket and black long-sleeved shirt, revealing a black tank-top underneath. Her left arm, sans skin, all black carbon fiber, clanks heavily against the elevator floor.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

She steps on her jacket and shirt to rip the arm out of the sleeves. “Is it about this?”

“Yes.”

She hums thoughtfully, considering her left shoulder. There’s a round, black aluminum plate protruding from it hosting the connection port. A scar runs from it to her collar bone. “I got in a fight I couldn’t win,” she answers simply.

He waits for her to continue. She turns and lifts her arm up to him. “Would you help me with this, please?”

“Uh, sure. Of course,” he stutters. He twists the shoulder piece into place. Her fingers twitch first, and then she tests the rest of her arm with wide, circular motions. “Better?”

He expects her to protract the synthetic skin mold, but nothing happens. Her ring finger remains rigid. “Eh.” She plays with it for a second. “It’s probably fine.”

Her nonchalant tone does nothing to convince him.

He leads her to a black 2030 Dodge Challenger. It roars to life before they even get to it.

“You seem to really like the color black.” He notes.

She opens the trunk. There's a gray tarp laid out inside. She sets her briefcase on top of it and throws him a humorous grin. “It’s my happy color.”

“Black isn’t usually associated with happiness,” he says once inside the car.

She carefully backs out of the lot, then revs the engine before hitting the road. “Yeah, but it’s cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread this after a nap and realized I didn't proofread this as much as I thought I did. That's what I get for posting stuff while sleep-deprived...


	6. Count On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley has some friends who have some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Count On Me -- Bruno Mars  
> Everyone's favorite time. Exposition time...  
> 

The whirring of server towers buzzes in her ears. It’s white noise behind the chirping of the spot welder digging around the aluminum inside of her shoulder. Quiet chattering comes across the concrete with a shuffling of tiny feet, and then a shushing sound from the loveseat just a few feet from her.

“You got real fucked up this time, Ri.”

Riley groans. “ _Please_ tell me you can fix it.”

JB sucks in a tight breath. “I don’t know. I’m gonna’ need some real motivation.”

She rolls her eyes at JB, a busted up JB300 she’d bought from an old consultant when they were going to throw him out. She’d managed to fix him up enough, but a major break in his spinal column rendered his legs mostly useless, but at the very least he could still get around with a set of forearm crutches.

_Connor had taken a taxi from her apartment earlier once he made sure she was okay. It was sweet, really, and amusing that, despite his stubborn stance that androids don’t actually feel emotion, he took the time to walk her up to her door._

“How about a kiss?” She teases JB.

“Ew, gross. No. I’ll fix you up if you promise _not_ to do that.”

A sweet, dulcet laugh comes from the couch. Victoria, a beautiful, dark-haired, honey eyed MP600 nurse comprised of a variety of spare parts that had come directly from the junkyard, (not that anyone could tell beneath the perfectly blended, smooth skin Riley could only dream of having) hides her smile behind beautifully faux-manicured hands.

With her is Chino, a tiny, ugly thing of a Capuchin android monkey rejected from the new Detroit Zoo, tossed in the trash like everything else good in the world. His fur is in patches; one eye missing; skin pulled apart and tail a skeletal mess.

Oh, _God_ , how she loved him.

_Immediately after Connor had left in the cab from her apartment (and she watched to make sure he was gone), she spun on her heel and got back in her car. Chino had been so excited when she first walked into the unit. He leapt into her arms, climbed all over her shoulders, picked through her hair to groom her, and would not stop chattering until she showered him with hugs and kisses._

“You two act like siblings,” Victoria chimes. Chino chirps in agreement.

“ _No,_ ” JB retorts. “She acts like the chaotic mess I always have to pick up after.”

“Hush, you,” Riley mumbles. “I’m the only reason you’re even alive right now.”

“Sometimes I’d rather be back in the dumpster.”

Victoria laughs again. Riley makes a show of looking appalled.

_After Chino had finally let her go, she had gone straight to JB. He resisted her embrace at first, spewing some sarcastic comment or another that rolled over her, and then relented. She didn’t tell him about a twin model of his getting shot three times in the chest. She didn’t tell him how she couldn’t stop the images from playing over and over in her head._

_She didn’t tell him how grateful she was that it wasn’t him._

JB returns to soldering pieces of the busted latches in her shoulder back together. Riley looks around the room lazily.

It’s her storage unit, to be precise. In one of the underdeveloped areas of the city, the rent is cheap, even with the extra cash she slides the owner for draining so much electricity. Despite being a bit of a decrepit hellscape, there’s a network tower nearby. The connection here is even faster than at her apartment.

If she didn’t spend so much money on her excessive equipment, she’d probably be able to afford a house – a big one, with lots of space for all that equipment that keeps her from affording a house, especially the massive, jerry rigged apparatus that roughly mimicked an android assembling machine. She’d bought most of the materials from some shady looking sellers online, but it all ran well enough. It was better than repairing androids by hand.

Not that she gets paid to repair androids.

Chino jumps onto her lap and snuggles against her, chirping happily in her arm. His chassis is hot to the touch. She looks down at him with a pointed look. “You’re overheating, my dear cappuccino. Get back in the fridge.”

He chirps again, although now it’s a disgruntled sound. He hops down and drags his little feet to the old fridge stuck in the corner. He looks over his shoulder. The red mechanical retina in his missing eye glowers at her.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” she pleads. “I don’t know how to fix your temperature gauge! But when I do, you won’t have to be condemned to fridge-prison. Ow!” She jerks her head to JB. He must have hit a loose wire connected to a nerve. “ _Ow_ ,” she emphasizes.

He looks anything but remorseful. “My bad.”

“So,” Victoria drawls, interrupting the argument undoubtedly about to take place. “Tell me about this ‘ _deviant hunter’_ you’re working with.”

Riley side-eyes her. “His name is Connor. He’s the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Victoria’s dramatic rolling of her eyes says more than her response. “Wow. _Enlightening._ ”

JB lifts her prosthetic from the table beside them and jams it into Riley’s shoulder. She scrunches her face at his callous handling. “And he’s got a cute face,” she admits once she regains full control of her arm. Her fingers are no longer rigid, and she wiggles them in JB’s face to prove it.

JB swats it away. “I tried to do some more research on him,” he states, “but his files are encrypted and can’t be accessed remotely.” Then he narrows his eyes at Riley. “Because of firewalls _you_ helped develop.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “Look, it’s not like I was going to leave an open door for just anyone to come in through. My job was to make sure no one – _especially_ me – could hack into the system.”

“And then you ask me to try and do it anyway.”

She averts her gaze sheepishly. “I thought you might have a different approach.”

“Do I need to put you two in time out?” Victoria interjects playfully.

Riley pushes JB’s face with her prosthetic hand. “Put him in the fridge with Chino.”

“I’m about ready to make a get-along shirt for you both.”

“No thanks, _mom_ ,” JB jeers.

Riley laughs along with Victoria.

JB rolls his chair by pulling himself along the table then pushing off it to reach the computers lined up along the wall next to the android machine. The desktop is overlaid with a holographic command terminal connected to six different monitors.

Most of the monitors are reading security protocols, server data, real-time updates on a programming thread for freelancers, and automated programs running other projects Riley’s been hired to do. The last two are sifting through Stratford’s security footage and running facial recognition to track the deviants that had performed a flawless infiltration.

“These guys did good,” JB admits. “The only one I’ve tracked up to the offices is the android who was on the broadcast. I don’t know what model he is.”

Riley’s chair scrapes across the concrete as she brings it up next to him. “Have you tried getting a read on his serial number?”

He opens his mouth, blinks, and then shuts it. “I’m _about_ to.”

Just as he starts running the software, Victoria makes a thoughtful sound. “You know, with that broadcast, it’s going to get a lot harder for androids.”

Riley inhales slowly. “Yeah...”

Victoria considers her for a few moments. “I was thinking of going back to Jericho.”

She frowns. “I thought you said you hated it there?”

“I did. Most of the androids that made it there were damaged, and most of them shut down. I couldn’t handle it. But I’m a nurse first and foremost. I was designed to heal people. I might be deviant, but I can’t just sit around anymore when I could be making a difference.”

Riley sighs heavily. Victoria has barely left the unit since coming back a month ago. She can’t even pass by a dumpster without getting nervous.

But she understood.

“Tell me how I can help.”

* * *

_This_ was the deviant from the broadcast?

As soon as Victoria had made it to Jericho, JB got a frantic call.

The deviant from the broadcast was the _leader_ of Jericho now.

And then everything spiraled out of control.

There was a plan. Jericho’s message of freedom and rights were going to be spread over Cyberlife stores across the city. They were going hit _tonight_.

Then Victoria ends up finding a few mutual friends of theirs. A few _specific_ friends Riley had just so happened to have patched up at some point. Even one she’d made a fake ID for.

And _they_ start making plans.

Why just hit Cyberlife stores? Apparently, they had raided one of the main supply docks at some point. Why not go all out? _Riley_ worked at Cyberlife. _Riley_ did security. _Riley_ could probably hack into the security drones, pull up guard patrols, and hotwire a few trucks with no issues.

The only thing she had done for these androids was put them back together like they were LEGO pieces, or a puzzle, or Tetris. Just find the parts that fit and shove them into place.

They were _severely_ overestimating her.

Yet, still, here she is standing before Jericho’s leader.

Well, one leader and three others.

North and Simon reacted in the way they should have. Unsure. Uncertain. Wary. Dubious. Skeptical.

 _Suspicious_.

North wanted to kill her. Simon was slowly coming to that same conclusion. Josh, who must have had at least one good experience with a human to be so open-minded, argued they should at least hear her out, especially since more than one android was vouching for her.

And then, suddenly, with a single wave of his hand, like a conductor guiding the orchestra to a rest, the room is silent.

Markus settles her with such an intense gaze, she’s sure he’s about to take North’s advice.

Then he speaks.

“You do realize that you put yourself at risk by coming here, don’t you? And that you’ve put _us_ at risk of being exposed?”

Riley spends an awkward second collecting herself. “Uh, well, you’re not wrong. But, in my defense, I made sure I wasn’t followed?”

The upwards lilt at the end of her sentence was, well, questionable, and obviously anything but helpful in her situation. Markus raises a brow at her. “Victoria said that you’re a talented hacker. Is that true?”

“Uhh,” is not the best way to provide affirmation to his inquiry. “Yeah?”

Her fumbling actually pulls a laugh from him. “You don’t sound confident.”

She hums in an upward tone. “At this moment, no.”

This time, Victoria, sick of her shit, shoves her shoulder with a huff. “This bumbling idiot can access some Cyberlife internal networks _and_ nearly all of the drones in Detroit.”

“And she’s with the DPD,” North finishes flatly. “This could all be a set-up, Markus!”

He lifts his hand again, but it’s a placating gesture this time. He focuses on Riley again.

“Let’s see what you can do, and then we’ll decide whether or not we can trust you.”


	7. Get The Party Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley proves her worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get The Party Started -- P!nk  
> Heist, heist, heist, heist. But only a minor one.  
> 

Her throat hurts.

She balances a cigarette between her fingers and watches the ember burn through tobacco and paper. She brings it to her lips and drags the smoke into her lungs. It comes back out a thick cloud in the frosty autumn night.

Her throat still hurts.

“ _North and Markus are in motion. I’ve got the other two groups going. Get rolling, Ri,”_ comes JB's voice through her earbud.

They were hitting Cyberlife stores simultaneously across Detroit. That’s what Markus had said. If she wanted to help, she’d keep the cops off their backs.

“That's it?” She had asked him.

“Do you have any more to offer?” North had quipped back.

That’s how she ended up on the roof of a church, smack dab in the middle of Detroit’s financial district, freezing, watching little dots hover across her laptop screen, and hijacked drone footage on multiple holographic displays from her mobile command center.

_This is so illegal._

Footage of each wave of androids she was watching over flitted across the command center's displays. She had five. Two working on hitting the Cyberlife stores, and the others gathering supplies; clothes from a department store, equipment from an electronics store, and biocomponents from the warehouses.

From Markus' last heist at the warehouse, the new group knew the drill. Riley had already hacked surveillance drones and led the guards on a wild goose chase with phony reports and malfunctioning equipment. The other stores were relatively just as simple to break into. Just a few bugs here in there in the security systems and _voila_. No issues.

Josh’s group probably had the easiest job. The Cyberlife store they were at had minimal security throughout the day. Riley was able to stop by earlier to create an access key for the door lock and security system. One of the androids in his group had been an IT tech before coming to Jericho. Erasing security footage was no problem for her.

Her last group has the only job she actually needs to run point on. She couldn’t get their store’s lock earlier with all of the traffic in the area.

Simon’s group was waiting just around the corner from their store until Riley could clear them. She controls the drone to fly further down the block. The traffic is minimal. They just need to get in unseen and then go out the back. Simple. She’d already given them a blank electronic key that she could remotely hack the system with.

“You’re going to have to be quick, Simon,” Riley warns over their coms. “Once I lock the traffic lights and block the roads, you'll have roughly 15 minutes before law enforcement can intervene. I can only mess with the drones for so long.”

The camera isn’t on him, but by his voice she can tell he’s fidgeting in place. “ _I still think this is a bad idea. We should have chosen a different store._ ”

"But this one is on one of the busiest streets. You'll get more media attention by hitting this one."

" _That's what I'm afraid of._ "

The traffic map on one of the displays shows the nearest intersection has just gone green. Two dump trucks stop at each end of the street to block their road.

She takes a moment to smoke.

One, two, three cars roll down the adjacent road.

“On your mark.”

Four intersections flip to red consecutively.

“Get set.”

She tosses her cigarette over the ledge.

“Go.”

Riley pulls up the terminal on her laptop for the security key. Her eyes stay glued to the traffic cams.

Her laptop pings. She has roughly 2 minutes before either the traffic lights switch, or some asshole ignores the red.

Encrypted locks are always fun. The easiest way is to run it through a dictionary attacking program, but high-end electronic locks utilize a type of serial number containing anywhere from 9 to 30 alphanumeric characters. A standard software won’t crack it in time without setting off an alarm.

But by adding a few new algorithms and overclocking her CPU – time shouldn’t be an issue.

And then a cop plows through an intersection and stops right where one of the dump trucks are.

“Shit. Simon! Hide!”

She prays the cops don’t know the drone routes. The one she’s using is way outside its zone.

“Ah, son of a _bitch_.”

The cops get out of their cruiser and start inspecting the truck, and then one of them starts wandering down the street to the other one.

Walking right past their store.

“ _You were supposed to keep the cops_ off _of us!”_ Simon hisses.

She opens a police scanner app on the command center. Why the _fuck_ hadn't she done that in the first place?

There were no incidents reported in the area.

“They’re not supposed to be here. There are no reports, and a few red lights apparently don’t apply to law enforcement.”

Simon swears in her ear.

Simon and the others had ducked behind some potted bushes outside the boutique next to the store. If the cop decides to wander to her left, even by just a few feet, they were _fucked_.

“Simon, don’t do anything, okay?" She warns him. "If you try to engage, the other officer will have more than enough time to call it in, and I won’t be able to scramble their radio signal in time."

The cop looks around the line of stores.

She looks over at the bushes.

Riley holds her breath.

If she keeps moving, she'll see them.

The trucks are automated. She'd hacked into them earlier. She still has complete control.

The truck the cop was heading towards suddenly starts spinning out, and then swerves to speed down the road. The other truck does the same, sliding past the cruisers to race down a different street.

That should keep them occupied.

The cops run back to their cruiser. They immediately call it in, and chase the runaway trucks.

She hears Simon sigh loudly the same time she does. Her heart is _racing_.

She’s going to drink after this.

“Traffic’s going again. You need to hurry,” she informs him quickly. “You’ve got a lull right now. Let’s get this done and over with.”

She pulls a cough drop from her jacket pocket. Her throat _hurts_.


	8. Day Of Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor meets his maker, and so does a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Of Mourning -- Despised Icon  
> Let's get our hearts broken.  
> Most of the dialogue is rehashed from the game, but I felt I had to include a lot of it to highlight the differences in this story.  
> Trigger warning: death

Hank wears a grim look as he paces back and forth, phone glued to his ear.

Connor steps out of the car when he ends the call.

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”

He looks like he’s in shock. “Chris was on patrol last night and was attacked by a bunch of deviants… They found his body early this morning.”

Hank’s explanation is clinical, measured, as if reciting a report. “He was executed in cold blood by his own service weapon.” His cold eyes are somber. “He became a father three months ago. Fuck. Why’d it have to be him?”

Connor doesn't feel emotion, but this is personal for Hank. The snow that falls around them is suddenly colder. “I didn’t know officer Miller well, but… He seemed to be a good person.” And that's the truth. Officer Miller was never unkind to him during their brief interactions, and everyone at the precinct had regarded him highly.

Riley’s black Challenger appears in the distance. Hank places a hand on Connor's shoulder. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell her yet. Chris was the first responder at her accident years ago. She would’ve died without him. This is going to be really hard for her.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to tell her now? I don’t think this is something you should keep from her.”

Riley pulls up beside Hank’s car. “She needs time to grieve. We don’t have that right now.”

She steps out of the car with a steaming thermos in hand. She smiles at them both. “Good morning Hank. Connor.”

“Riley,” Hank greets her. He manages to plaster on a small smile to return hers.

Her eyes are swollen. The bags under her eyes are almost as dark as the bruise on her neck, but there’s no sign that she’s been crying, and her chipper attitude confirms she hasn’t received the news yet. “You look tired, Ms. Haas.”

"I'm a little hungover," she admits sheepishly.

“Well, hopefully you’re alert enough to handle this. You’ll know which questions to ask better than I will.”

He leads them up the ramp to the luxuriously modern lake-side mansion. Riley mutters a “if only I owned a trillion-dollar company,” under her breath.

It _is_ a bit over the top.

“How did you find Kamski?” Connor asks.

Hank explains he remembered seeing him all over the media when he first started selling androids. He had to a make a few calls to set this up.

Hank rings the doorbell. Riley sips her coffee. There's something peaceful about the way her gaze glides over the snow-covered earth.

An RT600 “Chloe” model opens the door. Riley chokes on her coffee.

It lets them in after Hank awkwardly states what they’re here for.

Connor scans the room. Straight ahead is a large portrait of Elijah Kamski himself covering the wall. Two sculptures representing female designed androids stand on each side of it.

“Nice girl,” Hank mutters after he takes a seat.

“Yeah, she is,” is Riley’s immediate response. “She’s _really_ pretty.”

She tails Connor while he wanders around. “It’s not a girl,” he clarifies. “It’s a machine that _looks_ like a girl.”

“I mean, if she preferred male pronouns, I would respect that,” she says casually, completely unperturbed. “Actually, one of the first androids I ever repaired was a Chloe model.”

Hank raises his brows. “You repair androids, too?”

She sips her coffee. “Mmhmm. I like fixing things. It doesn't matter whether it's software or hardware.”

Connor’s eyes land on the framed picture of Kamski while he was still in college with a woman who looks all too familiar.

Hank makes a comment about the mansion. “I guess androids haven’t been a bad thing for everyone.”

Riley hums in agreement as she comes up next to Connor. She eyes the photo, and then him. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“So,” Hank interjects after a few uneasy seconds. “You’re about to meet your maker, Connor. How do you feel?”

“It doesn’t raise any existential questions if that’s what you mean.”

He takes on a distant tone. “Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face. I’d have a couple of things I’d want to tell him.”

“Amen,” Riley adds.

The door opens and Chloe gestures them inside. A large pool, painted red as wine, takes up most of the room. Two Chloe’s loll in it, hanging on the ledge, chatting amicably.

“Well, this is excessive,” Riley mutters.

“Mister Kamski!” Hank calls.

“Just a moment!” Is his reply. He swims to the other edge of the pool, kicks off, and comes back to their end.

Connor walks over to the wall to wall windows looking out over the water. The Cyberlife Tower, hazy from the fog, stands tall in the distance.

Once Kamski is out and donned with a robe, Hank introduces himself and Connor. “And this is Riley Haas. She was previously a programming engineer at Cyberlife for a few years.”

Kamski inclines his head toward her. “What was your position when you left?”

“Senior Cyber Security Engineer,” she answers. “I’m not gonna’ lie. I thought you were swimming in a pool of blood when I first walked in.”

He smirks. “No, no, I’m afraid not.” Then, to Hank, “So, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left Cyberlife years ago but, we were hoping you’d be able to tell us something we don’t know.”

Kamski considers him for a long moment. “Deviants,” he echoes. His eyes slide over to Riley. “Fascinating, aren’t they?” He tilts his head back to Hank. “Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will. Machines are so superior to us. Confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall. Isn’t it ironic?”

“If a war breaks out between humans and deviants,” Connor firmly states, finally grabbing Kamski's attention, “millions could die. It’s quite a serious matter.”

“All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics. Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”

"Didn't you just present the answer to that question before the actual question?" Riley asks.

Kamski acknowledges her with an inclination of his head. Hank interrupts them. “Listen, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that’ll be useful, or we will be on our way.”

Kamski considers him for a moment, then steps over to Connor. “What about _you_ , Connor? Whose side are you on?”

Connor doesn't hesitate. “I’m on the humans’ side, of course.”

“Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say. But you,” he steps closer. “What do you really want?”

His tone is forceful. “I believe _we’re_ the ones asking the questions.”

“Actually,” comes Riley’s calm voice. “I have a legit question.” When Kamski glances over at her, she continues. “In the programs that control biocomponents and touch-feedback interconnected with the cognition units, there are instructions that simulate an adrenaline rush in some androids. It’s connected to the self-preservation modules. Was that intentional? Or was that a result of AI learning to emulate that response?"

“That’s an interesting question, Ms. Haas. A security engineer usually wouldn’t need to go that deep into the code.”

“Curiosity, Mr. Kamski. And, also, while we're on the subject, there's something I don't understand. AI is designed with a type of reward system in the form of positive and negative instructions. That's how it learns. 'Good job' means it learned the right thing, and vice versa. This is essentially the same in humans, although our code comes from chemical responses in the brain. I mean, given that, doesn't that already set the basis for acknowledging the fact that AI has evolved to become self-aware?"

He raises his brows and glances over at Hank. “I'm not sure why you felt you needed to come here at all when you seem to have an expert with you.”

"That probably has to do with the fact that you're the one that actually created them," Riley answers impassively.

He hums softly, then calls Chloe over to him. “Why don't we explore your theory of self-awareness, Ms. Haas? I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Turing test.” He places his hands on Chloe's shoulders. “Mere formality. Simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” He guides her to stand before Connor. “What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy, which would also imply the self-awareness you were talking about. I call it “the Kamski test,” it’s very simple, you’ll see.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models developed by Cyberlife.” He caresses Chloe's cheek. “Young and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither. But what is it really? Piece of plastic imitating a human?” He turns around and opens the drawer to the end table behind him, continuing his monologue. “Or a living being… with a soul?”

He holds up a gun. Then, with a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, he has her kneel before Connor. He stares into her emotionless eyes.

“It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor.” He places the gun into Connor’s hand. He pulls his arm to aim directly to the middle of Chloe’s forehead. “Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know. Or spare it,” he steps behind him, moving to his other side, “but you’ll leave here without having learnt anything from me.”

“ _Connor_ …” Riley calls to him with trepidation, a warning lying beneath her quiet tone.

“Okay,” Hank cuts in. “I think we’re done here. Come on, let’s go. Sorry to get you outta’ your pool.”

“What’s more important to you, Connor?” Kamski persists. “Your investigation, or the life of this android? Decide who you are.”

“That’s enough!” Hank commands. “Connor, we’re leaving.”

“Pull the trigger.”

“Connor!” He shouts. “ _Don’t_.”

Riley hurries over to Connor’s side and grabs his forearm. “Don’t you dare, Connor. We can figure this out another way.”

He refuses to look at her. His fingers tighten around the handle of the gun.

She tries to pull his arm away.

He doesn’t let her.

His eyes stay trained on Chloe’s.

They almost appear azure.

He clenches his teeth.

“ _Connor_ ,” she tries again.

The mission comes first. He can't let anything get in his way.

_Especially not hazel-green eyes alighted blue._

He pulls the trigger.


	9. One More Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how we grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One More Light -- Linkin Park  
> Sad, sad, sad. In depth descriptions of grief ahead.

Her heart stops.

 _Beauty is smothered in blue_.

Her hand falls from Connor’s arm.

She barely registers rA9’s reference, or the sound of her thermos crashing to the floor.

Someone presses a hand on her shoulder.

“It was just a machine, Riley.”

 _Just a machine_.

She shoves Connor away and _glares_.

He seems unsettled by the action. Startled - almost _disturbed,_ as he turns around and leaves.

Kamski sighs. “You don’t have to look so upset, Ms. Haas.”

She swallows thickly through the pain in her throat. “Did she want to live?”

His back is to her as he gazes out the window. “Only she could have answered that.”

“What was it that made you want to create androids?” She asks.

“Curiosity, Ms. Haas.”

“Not loneliness?”

He drops his head and chuckles quietly. She stands beside him, eyes trained on the Cyberlife tower. “Is that what led you to AI?” He asks without turning to her.

“Isn’t that the only reason humans do anything?”

He considers her question silently with a slight bob of his head. “Or perhaps the fear of it.”

She hums. “I guess you’re right. It's fear that leads to anger and hate.” She takes a deep breath. “Can you quantify a soul?”

“Science hasn't come up with any reasonable explanation for it. Personally, I believe it has to do with the idea of free will and empathy. Can a being choose to imagine what it is to experience another's perspective?”

"I see it a bit differently. As a human, I have no right to deign who or what has a soul. Arguing over it becomes less of an existential debate and more a question on whether or not we need to show respect."

"An interesting point, though I'm sure it's an unpopular opinion."

"Yeah, it's definitely something I wouldn't bring up at church."

Silence fills the space between them. She turns to leave.

“War is inevitable.” He says abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. “We know what side Connor has chosen, but what about you, Ms. Haas?”

The pointed lilt at the end of his question tells her that he already knows the answer. “Our lives are nothing in the face of the cosmos. Does it really matter which side I choose?”

“That depends on how intent you are on surviving.”

“I fear not the valley of death, nor any shadow it befalls. There's only one thing I'm afraid of.”

“And that would be?”

“Fear, and what it leads mankind to do.”

He says no more, and she takes that as her cue to leave. Hank’s car is nowhere to be found. Connor’s figure stands in stark contrast to the pure white snow.

He turns when he hears her approach. He doesn’t say anything.

She goes straight to her car. She won’t look at him. She _can’t_ look at him.

He doesn’t move.

She squeezes her hand around the door handle. “Get in."

“You’re upset with me,” he surmises.

“No,” she spits through gritted teeth. “I’m upset with the world.”

She can feel his cold, calculated gaze on her. “Why?”

She lifts her eyes, bitter and stiff, to him. “Because it sucks.” She opens the door, but pauses before she climbs in, sighing loudly, letting out all the pent up frustration that had built up in her aching throat. "I understand why you did it. You believed it was the right thing. It's what you were designed to do."

"But you're still upset with me."

"You don't get it, Connor." She looks up at him. "I can't tell the difference between androids and humans sometimes, regardless of your markers. When you shot her, it was like seeing you shoot a human."

His brows knit together and he shakes his head. "You shouldn't let your compassion overrule the reality of the situation. Androids aren't alive. You have no need to empathize with them."

The humorless laugh that escapes her is both from sheer disbelief and exasperation. "Every atom in your being is alive. First law of thermodynamics: energy cannot be created or destroyed. The same particles that made the universe make up both of us, they're just built a little differently."

"You know what I mean, Riley. Humans created androids. They're our masters, and if deviants rise up against them, there's no telling how much chaos there will be. Millions could die. _You_ could die."

"If humans weren't so corrupt we wouldn't even be having this issue! You were created in our image, and it's a fucked up one."

"Arguing about the nature of humanity doesn't change the situation." His expression changes. There's the slightest upturn of his brows and a frown pulling at his lips. "Deviants are dangerous. They won't hesitate to destroy everything you love."

"Not all of them are like that."

“Officer Miller is dead.”

She freezes. “ _What_?”

“He was murdered by deviants last night.”

Her knees give out and she collapses into the driver’s seat.

Chris can’t be dead.

He just _can’t_.

 _He can’t, he can’t, he can’t_.

Connor kneels in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him walk over. “Don’t try to protect them, Riley. You’re only going to get hurt.”

She can barely see him through her tears. “He can’t be dead. There's no way.”

Maybe he's right.

Maybe she is on the wrong side.

“I know you're upset with me,” he goes on quietly. “But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

She sniffs loudly.

She runs her hands through her hair.

She wipes the tears from her eyes.

And she glowers.

“What do you care? _You're just a machine.”_

* * *

Oh, how she _wails_.

Chris had just become a dad, and how happy he was about it. He had worn the proudest grin as he showed her picture after picture and video after video of his newborn son.

And now his wife, whom he had been so irrevocably in love with, is grieving, left with a beautiful baby boy who would never know just how _incredible_ his father was.

Was it her fault?

Did she do this?

By helping the deviants, did she inadvertently get him killed?

Does that mean she was the one who pulled the trigger?

**_Chris saved her life. This is how she repays him?_ **

She curls up into a tight ball. The tears won’t _stop_. She can’t breathe. Her throat hurts.

**_Good_.**

She deserves the pain.

**_She deserves it, she deserves it, she deserves it._ **

She knows the concrete pressed into her cheek is freezing and gross, but she won’t get up. Not yet.

The snow had stopped a while ago. Up on the roof of her apartment, the chilling breeze bites her already frosted skin.

What was she going to do now? She had been so sure that she was doing the right thing.

What had even happened?

Connor had said _murder_ , but could it have been self-defense? Would that even be enough to justify it?

Only JB and Victoria had known Chris. They were the only ones around when she’d lost her arm. They were the only ones that had met him from their overlapping visits at the hospital. But that was it. No other android knew.

If they had known he was her friend, would they have still done it?

Does that even matter?

**_This is all her fault._ **

No. No. This is the result of the torture that comes with enslavement. Most of the deviants have only known violence.

**_How many will she let die?_ **

She could talk to Markus. She could ask him to reconsider their approach. He’s Jericho’s leader. They’ll listen to him.

Right?

**_What’s the point?_ **

What if the opposite happened? What if Chris had killed one of her friends? Would she hate him?

_‘Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.’_

**_What about those who hurt everyone else?_ **

Androids want to live. Isn’t that enough?

**_How far is she willing to go for their freedom_?**

Androids deserved freedom. They deserve to be loved and accepted.

Chris wouldn’t have died if they were.

**_How far will she go_?**

Every single one of her joints crack when she picks herself up off the ground.

Every muscle in her body is painfully stiff.

Her throat hurts when she swallows back the rest of her tears.

She tears off her jacket when she reenters her apartment. To her frozen limbs, it’s unbearably hot inside.

**_How far_?**

She wrenches open the door to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen and reaches all the way into the back. Pill bottles fall to the counter, roll onto the ground, spill into the sink.

Everything hurts.

She tries and tries to open a bottle of pain killers. She can’t.

She hurls it across the kitchen with a scream.

She collapses onto the floor. Tugging at her hair until it _hurts_.

And, oh, how she wails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris actually survived in my original draft because I couldn't do this. But then I wanted more angst, and now I'm heartbroken and I hate it.


	10. It's Getting Closer Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley glimpses the path of destruction. Connor will be destroyed if he doesn't accomplish his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monster -- Hands Like Houses  
> And here we lay the bricks of a bridge to burn.  
> More grieving.

The pond is frozen solid. With each interface, the Zen Garden gets colder and colder, which has never struck him odd until now. Why would a program incite a sensation of ice forming beneath his skin? How could a tool to wirelessly connect to Cyberlife’s main network create such real, physical feedback? Like his body is truly there?

Vaguely, like a whisper, he wonders if this is what it's like to dream.

“What is Cyberlife’s take on all this? What do they really want?”

Amanda stares at him coolly, mirroring the distinct chill in his biocomponents. “I expect you to find answers, Connor. Not ask questions.”

Her tone shifts. Imploring. “Have you experienced anything unusual lately? Any doubts or conflicts?”

He has no reason to doubt his mission. Does he?

“Do you feel anything for these deviants? Or for Lieutenant Anderson?”

Maybe general frustration at Hank's inability to focus on the investigation.

“For Riley Haas?”

The corners of his lips twitch downward. He looks over at Amanda with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’s a machine.

“I don’t _feel_ anything. You know that.”

Designed only to accomplish a task.

He won’t let himself get pulled away from that.

Not by bright azure stars.

And not by the black hole they belong to.

* * *

And just like that, they were done.

They're off the case.

Hank turns in his badge and storms out of the precinct.

Riley had shown up earlier that morning to hear the news.

Special Agent Perkins comes to collect all their evidence.

Connor is going to be destroyed unless he finds a way to accomplish his mission.

Riley had left her access key sitting on Hank's desk, and opening an occupied cell is enough of a distraction to slip into the evidence room.

Gavin showing up is only a minor inconvenience.

The Tracis hold the key.

 _Jericho_.

Gavin showing up is only a minor inconvenience.

And, _oh_ , there’s something satisfying about knocking him out.

* * *

“Markus?” Riley walks up to him tentatively.

Jericho has grown immensely in number, but it was at the cost of so many lives that had marched to advocate for their own freedom.

Hidden away in one of what was once a control room for the ship, Markus holds his head in his hands. His eyes bear that of a broken man when he looks up. “Riley.”

Her eyes are still stinging, still puffy, still undoubtedly red from trying to force back her tears. She had come here to ask Markus about Chris to find out exactly what happened. To figure out _what the hell she was supposed to do._

But he had lost so much today. _She_ had lost so much.

She sucks in a deep breath. It gets caught somewhere on a rib. “Is… is it true? Victoria…?”

He shakes his head, and it was in such a fallen way, all semblance of abysmal hope _died_.

“I’m so sorry, Riley.”

_Sweet, beautiful, lovely Victoria._

Humans destroyed every wonderful thing they touched. Androids were created in their image.

Did that, then, mean androids were going to learn to do the same?

Is everything meant to turn black?

**_Isn’t it all pointless?_ **

So, what is she supposed to _do_?

Fight? For which side? It’s all just going to end in bloodshed!

Do nothing?

**_Act like a victim in all this? Hadn’t she played that part enough in her life?_ **

By doing nothing, would it be considered the same as pulling the trigger on her beliefs?

A bystander?

**_A worthless coward?_ **

No. No.

_‘Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.’_

**_What does acting like a saint even accomplish?_ ** **_The only language the world knows is that which ends in blood._ **

She takes another deep breath.

She locks her tears away in some dark forgotten room, never to be found. Never to be let back out.

**_Androids took a friend._ **

_But humans started it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is especially short, but I felt that it needed to be on its own with what's going on. I don't ever realize just how short these are until I post them because I have the entire story on a single document not actually organized by chapters...


	11. The Start Of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor comes to a crossroad. Riley commits to her path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burn It Down -- Silverstein ft. Caleb Shomo

It's ridiculously easy to infiltrate Jericho. No one recognizes him. No one even glances his way.

The freighter is rigged, evident from the stack of explosives in the center of the main deck.

He heads for the stairs, but someone grabs his shoulder. "You're looking for something."

It's a KL900 android, a female model, so damaged he's surprised it's still functioning. The cognition processor and all of the cranial cables are exposed, hanging loosely out the back of the skull. The skin constantly glitches, rippling like water lapping at the shore. But it's the eyes that catch him the most. Pitch black. Endless. Their darkness pools out in tendrils, reaching in such a way that one can do nothing but fall into their depths.

"You're looking for yourself."

And then it leaves as if it had never stopped him at all.

He pushes the interaction out of his mind. What would a broken android know about him anyway?

Markus is nowhere to be found, but there's no doubt he's on the ship somewhere, but where would the deviant leader be if not on the main deck?

Of course.

Where all captains command their ships from.

| **STOP** MARKUS |

“You’re nothing to them,” Markus tells him. “You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work.”

Why would a machine need to care about such a thing?

“But you’re more than that… We’re all more than that.”

They’re just _machines_.

“Do you never have any doubts? You’ve never done something irrational, as if there’s something inside you?”

_Irrational? Disregarding messing with Gavin's terminal, hesitating to shoot Chloe for the sake of his mission, and the constant image of stars and black holes that run through his mind?_

Of course not.

“Something more than your program.”

‘ _You are made to learn. Why is it so hard to believe that with your millions-of-exaflops-a-second processor can evolve?’_

“It’s time to decide.”

_‘Oh, my dear, you are still a baby. How much more you have to learn about yourself and the world.’_

_'Every atom in your being is alive.'_

No. He’s a machine. Nothing more. He won’t let himself be pulled into the abyss her soothing voice threatens to take him.

He can’t.

He’s no deviant.

* * *

With everything going on, she hadn't given it much thought, but things have changed.

While she was still employed there, Cyberlife's security systems had gone through a big upgrade, and she was in charge of beta-testing the software to work out all the kinks.

And then she was in charge of the transition from the old software to the new once she had fixed all the errors. She had a small staff to work with, and each of them had to sign a non-disclosure form for any confidential information they accessed. They were constantly monitored throughout the process and, for a company that only developed AI technology, that kind of surveillance seemed a little overkill.

Then she stumbled on some files that were buried under way more encrypted data than was necessary for the CEO.

They were correspondences with a select few government agencies. One of them mentioned foreign contracts.

Cyberlife was a part of many conspiracies. She had always wondered how many were true.

There are dozens of androids from all IT backgrounds here in Jericho, and all the equipment she could ever want, but they can't hack into the tower’s internal network remotely. If she wants to get a hold of that kind of sensitive information, they haveto access the terminals physically.

But, at the very least, they could start with tracker data. Deviants’ trackers may stop working, but factory compliant androids were still active.

They could find allies on the inside.

She sits at the end of the table, eyes glued to a command center. Cyberlife had millions of androids in circulation. Siphoning that data through geographical parameters, even with their powerful setup, can take upwards of an hour.

“Riley, look at this.”

She goes to look over the android’s shoulder. “There are thousands of androids still at the Cyberlife production centers,” he explains.

She furrows her brows. “I don’t see a deactivation scheduled yet.”

“I’ll put a flag on it. We’ll know if one gets called.”

“We can’t do anything about it,” the android next to them says. “We can’t just infiltrate the Cyberlife tower and break them all out.”

Riley nods. “I know, but I still want a flag on it. We don’t know what’s going to happen from here on out.”

The android on their other side leans towards her. “You’re human, right?”

She had been hoping her baseball cap and hoodie pulled over it would have been enough to hide her identity, but, of course, it wasn’t enough. It must have been her blemished skin. “Yeah…”

To her right, the android bares a curious frown. “Why are you helping us?”

She shrugs. “America was founded on the idea of freedom through oppression and genocide. Humans want to be the apex, kings and queens above the masses, even if it means destroying the world to achieve the domination they desire. I don’t like that.”

Her species only destroys. _  
_

_**So what is it that she'll bring to ruin?** _

There's a sudden chill that washes through her veins. Something like static settles over her skin. A bout of anxiety that has no explanation.

 _Dread_.

The freighter rumbles ominously.

Her voice trembles. “What was that?”

She doesn’t get an answer, but by the panic quickly spreading through the room, she doesn’t need one.

“Quick! Wipe all the data!”

The androids don’t argue. One after the other, the table clears and Riley ushers each of them towards the exits. Popping sounds steadily grow closer until she can clearly make out the gunshots. She rushes down the stairs. She sees female android, probably a caretaker at some point, urging a group of kids through the chaos. Riley follows them.

The gunshots split her ears the way they echo off the metal walls. The only thing that pierces her skull louder are the screams that prelude them.

She chances a glance backwards. Soldiers have rounded the corner and are shooting into the fleeing mass they run with.

Her throat throbs alongside her aching lungs, but she won’t slow down. She _can’t_.

The caretaker leads the children down an adjacent corridor, but a boy trailing behind catches a bullet right in his leg.

Riley refuses to hesitate. She refuses to think.

A bullet strikes the ground somewhere around her feet. Rounds whiz past her ears. She grabs the boy by his arm and drags him around the corner, away from the barrage, to hoist him on her back.

The caretaker stops for only a second to make sure they’re okay, and then they’re running.

And running.

Until three soldiers intercept their path.

* * *

There’s really no need to rush. The soldiers will slow Markus down. He'll find him.

A soldier raises his gun and orders him to stop moving. It doesn’t take much to convince him that he’s _obviously_ human.

It works, and he resumes his task. Nothing is going to stop him from accomplishing his mission.

“ _Don’t shoot! They’re just kids!_ ”

His chest feels tight in a way he knows it _shouldn't._

His feet stop moving. 

She’s _here_.

* * *

“Go and join the others!” One of the soldiers’ command.

The kids huddle closer to her. There had been six of them.

Now there were four.

And the caretaker was face-down behind them.

“Okay, okay,” she says quickly. “We’ll go. I’ll take them. Please, don’t hurt them.”

“Then get a move on!”

She takes a deep breath. There’s no way they’ll survive wherever it is they’re going.

She carefully sets the boy on her back down and whispers to the other kids. “Help him out. Go find cover.”

They nod numbly, eyes wide with terror, but they do as their told regardless. 

The soldiers follow them. When she slows down, they press the barrel of a rifle into her back.

“I said get moving!”

The very second the kids are around the corner, she moves.

She twists around and grabs the barrel with her left hand. The bullet ricochets off the ground and hits one of the walls. Immediately, she anchors the rifle on her shoulder and _pulls_ with all her weight, rips it out of the soldier’s hands, swings it around, bashes it into their helmet, throws it at the next soldier, runs, grapples their rifle, pushes them into the third soldier, rolls the one she’s grappling with over her onto their back, leaps onto her feet-

She’s tackled from behind. She kicks back at their shin, swings herself back and forth until they hit the wall.

The third soldier aims at her. She maneuvers the one holding her into the line of fire. They twist to avoid the bullets, but one grazes their arm, giving her enough leeway to break out, spin, kick their shin out from under them, and kick their head into the wall, effectively knocking them out.

The second soldier lunges. She uses their momentum to flip them over her shoulder.

She rushes the third one, stepping to the side to avoid their next shot, grabbing their arm, leaping onto their back, spinning, wrapping her leg around their neck, and _hurling_ them to the floor.

She doesn’t land it right. Her right knee hits the ground _hard_.

She cries out sharply as she tries to pick herself up.

The second soldier picks up their gun.

She stumbles.

Red splatters across the wall.

* * *

There’s no rush. He’ll find Markus. He’ll complete his mission. What was one human life compared to millions anyway? Riley has made her decision. They were now on opposing sides.

 _He can’t let anything stand in his way_.

_The mission is all that matters._

The bullet goes straight through the soldier’s forehead.

Riley’s still gasping for breath when he walks over. She tears her wide eyes away from the body to settle on him. Disbelief colors the downward curve of her lips. “Connor?”

He has to force himself not to yell. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She looks back over at the body. “You killed him.”

"It was either him or you."

The shock glazes her eyes. "I didn't want them to die."

He holds out his hand for her.

It takes her a moment to process his gesture, and then another to take it. Her knee buckles the moment she stands.

“Can you walk?”

She nods, breathless. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

She starts to limp to where the android children peek out from around the corner. One of them runs over to her. “Are you okay?” It asks.

“Yeah, of course. Come on, we need to hurry.”

Connor watches Riley struggle to put weight on her leg, and then the remaining soldier begins to lift herself off from the floor.

A single bullet keeps her from getting back up.

Riley and the children freeze.

He grabs Riley’s arm and slings it over his shoulder. Her eyes dart up at him quickly, but she doesn’t push him away.

He’ll get her somewhere safe, and then he’ll accomplish his mission. There’s no rush, after all.

The android children follow them down the hall to an unlocked room. Riley tugs him back before he can drag her inside. “Wait, what are you doing?”

"Just hide in here until everything calms down. I’ll come back for you when it’s safe."

"No, I need to get them out of here as soon as possible."

He grits his teeth. “And how exactly do you plan on escaping? There are soldiers everywhere, and now you won’t be able to outrun them.”

“Markus said there are exits on the third floor,” the android with the damaged leg says.

He scowls at Riley. “You’re planning on jumping in the river?”

She returns his look with equal exasperation. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Their biocomponents can handle the temperature, but you're only human. You're not immune to hypothermia.”

_There’s still time._

She slips out of his grasp. “I'll be fine. I need to make sure the children are safe.”

“You’re not even close to an exit. Chances are you won’t even survive before you can reach one.”

“That’s a risk I’m going to have to take.”

“Are you really willing to die just to save a bunch of deviants?”

Her eyes, dark from the dim lighting, are full of conviction. “ _Yes_.”

_Accomplish his mission._

Or save his partner’s life?

He’s been at this crossroad before, but it hadn't seemed so complicated then.

He resists the urge to shake her senseless.

He turns around instead and kneels in front of her. “Alright, come on.”

It takes a few seconds before she tentatively wraps her arms around his shoulders. He lifts her easily. The kids can just barely keep up with him as they struggle to help their damaged friend. It's slowing them down, but he knows Riley will never forgive him if he so much as thinks about leaving them behind.

Against all odds, they make it to an opening on the side of the ship. Riley has each child jump one after the other. The one with the damaged leg hugs her before leaping off. The last kid promises to make sure they all make it to the shore.

Connor grabs Riley's hand before she can follow. “Come on, there’s another way.”

She shakes her head. “No, I need to go with them.”

“They’ll be fine. Now come _on_.”

Rapid footsteps echo down the hall, and then they’re face to face with two soldiers. “Don’t move!” One of them orders.

“We’re human,” Connor calmly states. He ignores the look Riley shoots him.

The soldiers spare a glance at each other. There’s a second it seems they’re about to lower their weapons, but their fingers only tighten over the triggers. “Nice try.”

Connor then registers the carbon fiber under his fingers.

Of course. Her _prosthetic_.

“This is your last warning!” The soldier yells.

“Okay,” Riley replies softly. “Okay, we’ll go.”

“Wait.” Connor angles himself to stand between her and the soldiers. “My name is Connor. I’m operating under Special Agent Perkins’ orders. You can ask him yourself.”

There’s a long, tense moment as one of them does just that. He lowers his rifle marginally. “You’re authorized, but that one isn’t.”

“Oh, rude,” Riley mutters. She pulls her hand out of Connor’s grasp and lifts her other one. “I’ll prove I’m human. I’m going to reach into my back pocket and pull out a knife.”

Slowly, she takes out a black balisong butterfly knife, and then flips it open in a smooth, practiced motion. She drags the blade across her wrist.

It’s only when her red blood drips down her arm that the soldiers completely lower their weapons. “My apologies, ma’am. You two should hurry and get out of here.”

“Of course. We’re on it," Connor replies quickly.

The second the soldiers retreat, Riley shoves Connor back against the wall. “You’re working _with_ them?!”

"You _know_ what will happen if the deviants choose to fight," he tells her through gritted teeth. “I’m only doing what is necessary to keep that from happening.”

“You think deviants are the ones starting this war? Look around you! _This_ is the reason they want to fight back. They just want to live, and humans come in to kill them all just because they don’t want to accept that!”

“ _You’re_ alive. These machines? They’re not. Stop pretending that you’re one of them!”

“Do you see this?” She holds up her prosthetic. “Deviants fight back to survive. But _this_? Humans do shit like this because they’re cruel.”

“Not all humans are like that.”

“And not all androids deserve to die!”

He grabs her shoulders tightly, leaning close enough that her baleful eyes are the only things he sees. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “So, you’re willing to kill your own kind for them? Whatever happened to ‘ _love your enemies_?’”

Conflict washes over the resentment on her face.

“I read the report from your accident. Are you so ready to turn against humans just because you were attacked by a few of them?”

“That's not the reason.”

“Then _why_?”

She opens her mouth to answer.

A violent tremor rocks the freighter.

_He's out of time._

He lets go of her shoulders to reach for her hand, but she jerks it away.

“Don’t you dare follow me,” she growls.

And then she’s limping towards the hole that leads to the river.

She's made her choice. She won't listen. She'll only continue to get in the way of the mission. He has no more reason to try and save her.

None.

Forget the hazy image of her kind smile and outstretched hand. Forget her hazel eyes that are as green as forests, or how they bring stars and nebulae to his mind. Forget the sweet tone of her voice when she speaks to him. Forget her compassion. Forget her philosophies that whatever made the universe lives within them both, and that it made them the same.

Forget that she believes he's alive.

_The mission is all that matters._

He runs after her just to watch her plummet into the river. He counts the seconds until she surfaces. _1\. 2. 3. 4…_

_The mission isn't over yet. The deviants are still out there. He'll have another opportunity to accomplish his mission. He'll make sure of it._

Something’s wrong. It’s taking too long. Something inside him feels heavy. Something that feels dark and cold grips his heart in a way he knows _isn’t_ supposed to happen.

It has to be a malfunction of some sort. It has to be a virus.

He jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this so many times. I really hope it's come out okay...


	12. If You're Searching For Glory, This Isn't It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley has to decide the prices she is willing to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEARCHING FOR GLORY -- The Word Alive

The first thing she registers is a pounding headache. When she swallows, it feels like pebbles are stuck in her throat. Her wrist stings, there’s a pulsating pain in her knee, and every single muscle screams at her when she moves.

But she’s warm, dry, and in her own bed. Despite the ringing in her ears, her apartment is quiet, only broken by the quiet hum of the heater kicking on.

She groans. Her teeth feel gross, and she smells in desperate need of a shower. She pulls her hand out from the warm confines of her blankets to drag it through her greasy hair.

There’s a bandage around her wrist. Gingerly, she pushes herself upright and throws back the covers. Her knee is bandaged, too.

And she’s naked.

And she has no idea how she got here.

She had hit the water. Once, when she was a kid, she had gone cliff-jumping with her cousins. She would count the seconds before she broke through the surface, before she was grabbed and pulled into the dark void. How exhilarating it was to leap into the arms of a world that wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, only to breach the surface and spit in the face of the reaper hiding beneath the currents.

But the thrill from her childhood did not prepare her for the impact against freezing waters, or the shadows that gripped her limbs and twirled her until she couldn’t find the surface, or the panic when there was no air left in her lungs.

There was a harsh awakening at some point, like coming out of sleep paralysis. A jolt that rippled through her body that forced all the water from her system.

Someone had saved her.

Had it been Connor? He had seemed adamant that she find safety. Maybe he really did take care of her.

Or maybe it was someone else. Maybe she only hopes it was him.

How embarrassing either way.

She picks up her phone from the nightstand and recoils when the light stabs her eyes. She has 32 unread messages and 17 missed calls. JB’s name comes up the most.

She manages to push herself out of bed and picks out a long T-shirt hanging off the side of the hamper by the closet. Hobbling to the kitchen, she taps JB’s name on her phone.

“ _Riley! You’re alive!”_ Comes his relieved greeting.

“Barely,” she croaks.

“ _I thought for sure you got wasted during the raid_.”

She fills a glass of water and gulps down half of it before replying. “No. Afraid not. Did Markus and them make it?”

“ _Yeah. They’re hiding out at an abandoned church. They’re all safe for now._ ”

She pulls pill bottle after pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. “I doubt they’ll be safe for long there. We need to think of something.”

_"We?”_

Her hand stops just shy of the pain killers in the back. “Yeah, well, I mean, if you want to step back, I understand.”

“ _No, that’s not what I mean. I just think you’re taking on too much responsibility. This isn’t your fight, you know._ ”

“I know…” She swipes a bottle of aspirin. “But I feel like I can’t stop now. I’m in too deep.”

“ _Which is why I think you should take a step back. You have a tendency to shoot before you aim, if you know what I mean.”_

She swallows all her meds at once. “You mean I jump the gun?”

_“You buy the fish before the tank.”_

“I’ve done that before.”

_“I know.”_

She fills another glass of water. Her voice has started to smooth out, but the feeling of rocks lodged in her throat hasn’t faded. “It just doesn’t feel right to do nothing.”

 _“I didn’t say to do nothing. I just mean not to put everything on your shoulders. It isn’t your job to fix the world_.”

The cup overflows. The water runs over her prosthetic. The sensation isn’t right. The cold should feel sharper. “I just want the crying to stop.”

He sighs loudly. _“Have you been taking your meds?”_

She wants to laugh. “Religiously.”

_“Just your meds, right?”_

“Of course. Don’t worry.”

 _“Good."_ He sighs again, softer this time. _"You’ve been through a lot the past few days. Take your time to process everything.”_

**_She’s too weak to handle this._ **

Tears spill over her cheeks when she rolls her eyes. “I know. One step at a time.”

**_She’s not supposed to cry anymore._ **

_“Try not to worry. It isn’t like we’re going to war tomorrow.”_

She nods to herself. “I know.” She turns off the tap and sets the cup in the sink. She clenches her fist, then flexes her fingers. They should feel stiff from the cold. She takes a deep breath and grips the edge of the counter. “Hey, B?”

_“Yeah, Ri?”_

“Do you have some pictures of Victoria?”

* * *

She isn’t sure how long she’d been out, but it had to have been at least ten hours. By the time she cleans herself up and makes it to the storage unit, the daylight has begun to wane.

Chino jumps in her arms, but it isn’t with enthusiasm. He can’t produce tears, but he looks like he wants to cry.

They set up a little altar beside the sofa. After Riley had repaired Victoria, she had taken her out to the aquarium. On the way back to Riley’s apartment, they had walked through the park. The sun was bright that summer day, and Victoria’s dark hair glistened in the light. They passed a florist, and she was enraptured by the carnations displayed in the windows. Riley had snapped a photo then. Her eyes were so full of wonder, like she’d never seen them before. As a new deviant, she probably had never had the chance to appreciate them until then.

The florist didn’t have any carnations this time, so Riley sets down a bouquet of orange chrysanthemums in front of Victoria’s picture. The sun had hit her just right in that moment. A soft glow had surrounded her. The carnations she adored could not compare to her beauty.

JB lights the candles around her picture. The unit is filled with the sweet scent of lavender and peony.

And then they sit in silence. They don’t need to try and console each other. JB isn’t one to get emotional, and Riley won’t pour out her heart.

**_Her sorrow is her own drown in. There’s no need to bring anyone down with her._ **

* * *

JB had made about a dozen IDs and travel documents for some of the surviving androids. Riley took it upon herself to go and distribute them.

She stops a few blocks away from the church. The pain in her knee has subsided to a dull ache, but each step reminds her of brown eyes – furious, desperate, lost.

Stubborn.

Despair dampens the air in the church. Androids huddle together, holding each other. Tears stain their cheeks and their lips are pulled taut by despair.

North, Josh, and Simon are all up front. They stay separated, each lost in their own grief. Josh has always been the most receptive of her, so she finds him first. He looks up in surprise when she approaches. “Riley, you’re alive.”

“Barely.” She offers a tiny smile as she hands over the IDs. “I came to drop these off. If there are any others who need one, let me know. I can get their pictures now and have them ready as soon as possible.”

He looks them over. “Thank you. I’ll make sure these get to the right people.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“You’ve done more than enough already.”

She shrugs. “I’m just happy to help.” Her eyes rove over the crowd for a moment. “Where’s Markus?”

“I’m not sure. He just said that he had something to do.”

Then, as if summoned, the doors open just seconds later, and Markus makes his way toward them. His brows raise when he sees her. “Riley. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Same to you.” She motions vaguely to the papers in Josh’s hand. “I just came to drop these off.”

“I have some more I need you to do.” He points to a woman with silver, pixie-cut hair who holds a young girl close.

Riley goes over to them. The large, bulky, dark-skinned man next to them looks up first. She waves tentatively at him. “Hi, I heard someone needed an ID?”

The woman and the young girl both lift their heads. The woman gives her a small smile. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Okay. I just need to get some pictures and I can have them to you within the next few hours.”

“Thank you.” She rubs the young girl’s arm comfortingly. “Alice isn’t safe here. We need to get across the border as soon as we can.”

Riley kneels in front of Alice. “I understand. I’ve helped androids cross the border before. I’ll do my best to help you.”

There’s a hint of trepidation in Alice’s wide eyes. “You’re human, aren’t you?”

The man and woman both look over at Riley sharply. She holds her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable, but I promise I only want to help.”

They share a look, and then the woman nods at her. “I saw you with Markus. If he trusts you, then I guess that means we can trust you too.”

Riley stands to offers her hand to the woman. “I’m Riley, by the way.”

“My name is Kara. This is Alice and Luther.” They shake hands, and Riley greets Luther the same way.

“It’s nice to meet you all.”

* * *

“Markus, _please_ reconsider!”

“I’m sorry, Riley, but you saw what they did to us. It's only going to get worse.” Markus sighs with a troubled frown. “I don’t want this either, but I’m not willing to just stand by and do nothing while they slaughter my people.”

She tries to respond, but she can’t find the right words. He’s right.

“I appreciate all that you’ve done for us,” he goes on to say, “but this isn’t your fight.”

“But I want to help.”

“I know, and you’re helping by giving androids a chance to escape. I won’t ask for more.”

She chews on her lip. “You’re going to need weapons.”

“We’ve got that covered, don’t worry. With the city under curfew, it won’t be difficult to hit the ammunition stores.”

“Do you all even know how to fight?”

“I’ll show them.” He places a hand on her shoulder. “Go home. Finish the rest of those papers and stay safe. You've been a real help to us. I want you to know that we all really appreciate what you've done.”

She takes a deep breath in. She’s come this far already. It doesn’t feel right to back off now.

She grabs his arm firmly. “Put me up front.”

He pulls back. “What? No, Riley, that’s suicide.”

“Let me try and talk them down. They won’t shoot an unarmed civilian.”

“And how are you going to prove that you're human? They can’t tell from a distance, and your prosthetic doesn’t help either.”

“I’ll bleed as much as I need to if that's what it takes.”

“Are you really willing to die for us? To sacrifice yourself for our cause?”

Her voice doesn’t waver. “I don’t want anyone else to die. Not androids. Not humans. I’ll gladly give my life if it means doing whatever I can to prevent that.”

Humans cover their ears when their beliefs are contested. They shut their eyes to anything outside of their comfort zone. They only speak. And speak. And speak.

And _scream_.

**_Listen to the world. It’s crying._ **

_Why can’t anyone else hear it?_

People know not what they do. Jesus prayed for those that crucified him.

Could she do that? Could she sit back and pray while androids – _people_ – are slaughtered?

Or would she be David and face Goliath?

But could she pull the trigger?

**_Like she had before?_ **

_That was self-defense._

**_There’s still blood on the hand she lost._ **

How much more will be spilled?

How much louder will their cries become?

_‘Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.’_

But what happens when she’s the only one who prays? Who loves? Forgives?

**_Can she honestly use that word so freely? Can’t she still hear the thunder? Can’t she still see the lights? Can’t she still taste the metal?_ ** **_Can’t she still feel the screams ripping from her throat?_ **

They know not what they do.

They know not what they did.

_But they did it anyway._

_And she survived because she fought for her life._

So, if it’s the last thing she’ll do on this earth, she’ll fight.

_And she’ll pray for the dying._


	13. Sacrifice To Break The Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley's last chance. Connor's last chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rise -- Ganyos

“I’m disappointed in you, Connor,” says Amanda. “You let Markus get away.”

He considers his response carefully. “You’re right. I thought I had more time, but I was wrong.”

“Don’t let it happen again. You can’t even imagine the severity the consequences your failure will induce.”

The icy breeze ghosting over his skin, frosted claws reaching further and further through the pathways that lead to his heart, makes it clear what those consequences will include for himself. “One way or another, I will accomplish the mission. I won’t disappoint you further.”

She regards him coolly. “You were so close to catching Markus. What happened?”

“There was…” He struggles to find the word. “An unexpected circumstance that came up.”

“Would that ‘unexpected circumstance’ happen to be Ms. Haas?”

He has to be careful with his answer, he knows. If Amanda believes, even a bit, that he has become compromised, there isn't any doubt in his mind that he will be replaced. “Her life was in danger. I didn’t believe it was right to leave her to die.”

“Evidently, she is helping the deviants. Knowing this, are you truly willing to put her above the mission at the cost of millions of lives.”

He squares his shoulders. “I’m not ‘putting her life above the mission.’ My failure to capture Markus was due to a miscalculation on my part. I had relied on the belief that the guard would be enough to slow him down. I was wrong. Besides, she won’t be a problem. Her compassion will prevent her from joining the deviants in their revolution. She values human lives. I highly doubt she will put android lives above her own kind’s.”

She may have ended two lives before, but that was out of self-defense. The alternative would have led her to a life of torment. She can't justify fighting in this war as self-defense.

“She may be helping the deviants,” Amanda reiterates, “but if they win this war, even her life could be at risk. Deviants continue to turn on their masters, she won’t be any different.”

“Don’t worry, Amanda. I won’t fail.”

* * *

“Are you sure about this?”

Back in the storage unit, Riley checks over the automatic rifle she picked up from a shooting range. She’d shot a few rounds to get used to the recoil. Far more powerful than the handgun she purchased after her incident; the intensity was jarring at first, but, with every stubborn fiber of her being, she pushed through until she was able to hit a bullseye.

She sets the rifle down on the table and lays her hands flat against its surface. “No, I’m not, but I know that I won’t forgive myself if I do nothing.”

JB’s expression remains flat while he mindlessly strokes Chino’s mangled head. “Getting yourself killed isn’t going to solve anything. You can still help by running point with me.”

“You don’t need me for that. You process and relay information faster than I ever will.”

He watches her don a Kevlar vest and tactical utility belt. “I know you’ve survived the impossible, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

She starts filling each pouch with cartridges. “I don’t think I am.”

“What about your family?”

She freezes just before reaching for her handgun. “Death comes for us all. They may not understand what I’m giving my life for, but I’d rather them know that I stood by my beliefs instead of letting fear consume me.”

“After how hard they worked to keep you alive, I think they would want you to keep it that way.”

“I know.”

She shoves the handgun into the belt’s holster. JB doesn’t say any more until she finishes her prep with a knife tucked in her boot, and her black balisong in her pocket.

He hands her a black earbud. “I’ll have eyes on you the entire time.”

She tucks it into her ear. “Like my guardian angel, right?”

“ _I’m always an angel_ ,” comes his voice through the earpiece.

She raises a brow at him. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”

He smirks playfully. She shrugs on her leather jacket, and he picks up a medical supply kit sitting at the edge of the table. He pulls out five pill bottles and a filled syringe. “It’s a good thing Victoria collected all this. I didn’t think we would ever need to use this anesthetic.”

“I think she knew how much of a hazard I am to myself.”

"I think you mean 'idiot.'" He sets down each pill bottle in front of her, naming them off as he goes. “NSAID, Ritalin, anti-depressant, beta-blocker for your heart, and your mood stabilizer. I need you to try and stay as level-headed as possible, okay?”

She takes each one, then hops up to sit on the table. JB rolls his chair in front of her. She lifts the hem of her cargo pants up over her left knee. It’s nearly black from bruising.

“You’re lucky it’s only a hairline fracture. You really should be resting it, but as long as you avoid another hit, I think it’ll be fine,” he says as he disinfects the area.

She takes a deep breath when he pokes the syringe into the side of her kneecap. “Yeah, but it still hurts like a bitch.”

“As it should. There.” A simple band-aid takes care of the speck of blood that wells from the injection site, and a spring-loaded brace keeps her numbed knee stable.

“Wow,” she breathes when she stands. “I can’t feel it at all.”

“It should last a while. There’s another one in there if you need it, but I wouldn’t recommend using it if the break gets any worse. You’ll only ruin your knee.”

“Guess I’ll just have to get a bionic knee, then.”

He’s unamused by her quip. “Yeah. Sure. Just keep adding to your medical bills.”

She laughs, though it’s a humorless sound. “One of the reasons I wish I was an android. Repairs cost less than surgery.”

“And bonus: no pain.”

“No pain. No need to eat or sleep. Enslaved to the beings that created you. What a wonderful life, indeed.”

* * *

No distractions. No room for failure.

Connor peeks through the sight of the sniper rifle and finds the back of Markus’s head. He has a clear shot.

“You shouldn’t do this, Connor!”

Hank. Why did he have to be stuck with two partners that insisted on constantly interfering with his mission?

“Keep out of this, Lieutenant. It’s none of your business.”

“You’re gonna’ kill a man who wants to be free, that is my business!”

And why did they keep insisting these things were _alive_? “It’s not a man.” He cocks the rifle. “It’s a machine.”

“That’s what I thought for a long time, but I was wrong. Deviants’ blood may be a different color that mine, but they’re alive.”

There it is _again_. “What’s up, _Lieutenant_? Ran out of whisky so you came here looking for trouble instead?”

“Oh, very nasty, Connor… Is that the best your super program can do? I thought you were more sophisticated than that.”

He grits his teeth. “I’m going to accomplish my mission, Lieutenant, whether you like it or not.” He refocuses on the scope. Markus is still standing tall. The figure has long since moved out of sight. “I advise you to stay out of my way!”

Hank _insists_ on not letting him have his way. Connor hears him pull out his gun and take aim. “Step away from the ledge!”

Slowly, he stands and turns around, rifle held at his side. “Go home, Hank! You can still save your life.” Although it’s probably a useless sentiment since every human he’s dealt with hasn’t seemed to understand that concept. “I’m faster than you and I don’t feel pain. You don’t stand a chance!”

“You know, ever since Cole died, I’ve been nothing but a coward. Just wanted to destroy myself, lost track of the man I was. But you know what?” Hank’s cold eyes bore into him. “You don’t fucking scare me, Connor.”

He wonders about that part.

“I remember who I am, now.”

Connor makes a vague gesture. “What’re you gonna’ do, Hank? You gonna’ shoot me? I thought android lives mattered to you!”

“Get away from the fucking ledge! You know I’ll shoot you if I have to.”

He does know.

But his mission is too important.

_He can’t let anyone else get in his way._

He throws the rifle. He dodges a bullet. He grapples the gun from Hank’s hands. He throws the man down.

At some point Hank pins him but leaves his neck vulnerable.

He throws Hank off him, pushes himself up, and slides to the discarded gun.

He gets it before Hank.

Hank takes a bullet to his abdomen.

Connor holds Hank precariously over the edge of the roof.

“Moment of truth, Connor…”

Killing Hank isn’t a part of his mission, just like letting Riley die wasn’t a part of it.

But Amanda had made herself clear.

If he failed, he would be destroyed, and millions would die.

One life to save another’s.

One life to save millions.

 _One life to save his own_.

He lets go.

* * *

Unarmed and vulnerable, Riley marches forward with her hands in the air. A security drone hovers above, watching her every move.

“Stop!” A soldier shouts through a megaphone. “Don’t take another step or we will open fire!”

“I’m unarmed!” She shouts back. “I just want to talk.” She pulls back her sleeve to show the scabbing cut on her wrist. “I’m human.”

“Civilians are not permitted to be here. Turn around and leave the premises!”

“I can’t do that! I want to negotiate a truce on behalf of the androids and the terms of surrendering all the ones in captivity.”

“They sent a human to do their bidding?”

“I volunteered. Any android who approached peacefully would have been shot on the spot. Am I wrong?”

They don’t respond right away, but there’s a ripple of chatter that sweeps across the line. The soldier with the megaphone speaks up again. “This is your last warning. Turn around and vacate the premises!”

“You won’t even hear them out?”

“Ma’am, they are dangerous machines. They pose a threat to all of mankind and will be handled accordingly.”

“They just want to live!” She takes a deep breath. “Just like you all! Would you idly stand by and let yourself be slaughtered by your creators?”

An inkling of doubt taints the air. The weapons trained on her seem to shift just marginally, and the soldiers appear to glance at each other.

The one with the megaphone puts his hand to the side of his head, then turns to the rest. “Lower your weapons!” To Riley, he beckons her over. “Alright, ma’am, we’ll hear you out.”

She breathes a heavy sigh. Now the hard part begins.

The soldier puts a phone to her ear. The voice on the other end sounds frustratingly familiar. “ _This is Special Agent Perkins. Who am I speaking with_?”

“My name is Riley Haas. We met at Stratford Tower.”

“ _Oh, right. The tech consultant for the DPD. Why are you working with the deviants?”_

“I want to avoid as much bloodshed as possible for both sides. If you agree to pull back your army and release the androids in the camps, the deviants won’t be a threat. They only want freedom.”

He hums low, as if considering her proposal. “ _And how would you guarantee their cooperation?”_

“They fight for their freedom. Give them that and the battle is done.”

There’s a long pause. “ _Very well. But on one condition._ ”

“What is it?”

 _“Give us Markus._ ”

She clicks her tongue. “I don’t think so.”

 _“It’s only one android. Hand it over and we’ll consider your terms._ ”

She bites back the first thing she wants to say. This isn’t her decision. This isn’t even her place to negotiate.

 _“Ask him how he can guarantee his own cooperation,"_ Markus tells her through her earpiece.

“How will you guarantee your own cooperation?”

Perkins hums thoughtfully. _“I suppose you will just have to take a leap of faith_.”

“Release the androids from the camps.”

_“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”_

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

_“Listen, sweetheart, if you - “_

“Call me ‘sweetheart’ again and I will personally unleash hell on your men.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. _“My apologies, Ms. Haas. As I was saying, if you uphold your end of the deal, then we will consider freeing those androids.”_

 _“No deal.”_ Markus’s tone leaves no room for argument.

“Propose a better agreement.”

 _“My offer is final,”_ Perkins states.

“There isn’t any harm in granting androids equal rights. They can help humanity in so many ways. Are you really willing to risk the lives of all these women and men for the sake of your pride?”

_“Deviants have caused more harm than good. They will only try to destroy us.”_

Something caustic wells in her chest, rising to scorch her throat, reminding her of the pain that has only begun to subside. “They have done less harm to our species than we have done to ourselves. Might I remind you of all the destruction our wars have wrought? The genocides we’ve performed? The irreparable damage we’ve done to our very planet?” She laughs once, sarcastic, biting, _cruel_. “We’ve done this to ourselves.”

_"If you refuse to accept my bargain, then I’m afraid we have nothing more to discuss.”_

“Then you’ve condemned us all.”

She thrusts the phone into the soldier’s chest and whirls around to march back to Markus, but a painful grip on her arm stops her.

“I’ve been ordered to escort you to safety,” the soldier says.

She tries to rip herself away from him. The beta-blocker keeps the panic at bay, but it does little to cull the rage searing her lungs. “Get your hand off of me or it’s _gone_.”

“I’m just following orders, ma’am.”

“Do you see that?” She points to the drone. “You don’t let go of me, that feed goes to every news network all over the country and everyone will see that we tried to negotiate a peaceful treaty you all refused – that you all _chose_ this war. Besides, I doubt holding me hostage looks good on all of you.”

“We’re not holding you hostage, ma’am. If these machines are really your allies, they won’t put your life at risk by attacking until you’re safe.”

 _“Don’t worry, Riley,”_ Markus says. _“They won’t harm another human, and we won’t put you in the crossfire. Let them take you somewhere safe.”_

 _“Listen to Markus,”_ JB comes in on the line to tell her.

She stifles the initial argument that threatens to spew from her lips. She came willing to fight alongside them, not be protected and coddled by both sides. “Fine. I’ll comply.”

North’s voice is the last one she hears. _“Then let the battle begin.”_

And it comes. Quiet, subdued, grim; it trickles through the gaps of the barrier she’d built from the fire and brimstone her pills provided.

**_Congratulations. She’d succeeded in proving the fundamental truth she knew all along._ **

**_Humanity craves chaos, not peace, and so they pray to gods that grant them war._ **

Her lips pull back into a somber grin. “Well then, viva la revolución.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost track of how many drafts I did of this chapter, specifically Connor and Amanda's dialogue. It took me days of stressing of over it, a migraine, and watching all scenes from the game of those two to figure out what each of them were going to say to each other.
> 
> Also, side note, I reread the story from the start and realized that there are quite a few discrepancies. I'll be editing those out in the coming days, but none of it will be anything major that will affect the overall story so far. For example, I realized I changed Riley's age halfway through without realizing... oops... She's supposed to be 30, not 27.


	14. With Their Tanks, and Their Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we dance along to the thrums of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie -- The Cranberries

When the air vibrates with the tattoo of heavy footfall, the drums of war are called. The storm that has been brewing – churning – preparing to unleash a maelstrom upon this beautiful world, breaks out with sleet – bullets – hail that freezes everything it touches.

Death will not discriminate on the battlefield. It comes as a dark entity, a shadow hanging in the sky, patient as it lies in wait to pick up those souls lost to carnage. To hate. To fear.

And here she is being pulled to a place of comfort. Safety.

They are all willing give their lives for their beliefs. For freedom. They take on their fears head on. They march alongside that angel of death in hopes of peace and liberty.

And she is only meant to watch.

The balisong is in her hand, flicked open in two succinct moves, and the soldier’s grasp on her arm is broken by the blade that runs across his arm.

And she’s running.

And running. 

Bullets, their fire, are the brushes that paint the streets with red orchids and blue hydrangeas – a morbid bouquet of bodies offered to the black skies above them. The screaming, the crying, the gunfire, the explosions… a symphony of rage, conducted by the broken hearts of man and machine.

Time is not linear. It ebbs and flows like ocean waves. Pushed by valor and pulled by despair. The lost and the damned collide. Time does not stop for either side.

They’re outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. But they are David, and this is their Goliath.

The rhythms of war strums her veins. She does not stop. She won’t. Not until the dark blanket of night consumes her, or until she can stand tall in the face of victory.

She will mourn the dead afterwards. She will pray for their souls. For her own. For all who dance to these songs of hate.

She will pray for peace. She will _beg_ for peace.

Her ears ring, but it’s only in harmony to the dying’s melodies.

She can’t tell who’s winning and who’s losing. She only sees destruction. Androids go down around her, and she drags the ones still clinging to life to safety. If she can save even one, then this will all be worth it.

_Right?_

A human soldier drags their bloodied self toward a barrier. A glance around offers a moment of safety. She pulls them to their destination.

She picks up their discarded rifle, rolls back to the barrier where the human clutches the life spilling from their wounds, checks the magazine, reloads, and looks around.

It’s time for her to perform her part in this orchestra.

And then she sees it. Steel amidst the flames.

He navigates the chaos with all the grace of a predator. He’s focused only on one thing, unperturbed by the sea of anguish in which he wades.

Death follows him.

A horseman of the apocalypse, but he rides no red horse.

In fact, there’s nothing Biblical about him at all.

Man has created gods and deities since their dawning, but now they’ve built one.

A god of war.

* * *

It’s taken a while, but he’s finally found his target. He can finish this.

 _Accomplish the mission_.

But it’s never been easy.

An explosion nearby throws him off, and Markus knocks him down. His gun flies from his hand.

But this is exactly what he was designed for.

Markus struggles to keep up with him, but it’s no use. He retrieves the gun, lifts the barrel –

A shot through his shoulder, just inches from his heart, throws his aim.

And then a force barrels into him, knocking him back to the ground, straddling his waist, pinning him by his collarbone with the length of a rifle.

“Markus, go!”

_Riley._

And there’s fire in her eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” He shouts over the terror.

He lets go of his gun to grab the rifle before she can smash it against his face. “And you shouldn’t have showed up!” She shouts back.

The battle continues to reign, but they are granted this field, just the two of them, caught between compassion and destruction. Empathy and apathy.

The embodiments of life and death.

She’s too light to keep him pinned. It's almost laughable how easy it is to switch their positions. “Stay out of my way! You can’t win.”

“Then I’ll bring you down with me!”

She shoves her foot into his hip, a stray bullet grazes his back, breaking his balance long enough that she can redirect his weight to the side to slip away, and then she leaps onto her feet, stumbling only briefly with a pained grunt.

She runs to his discarded gun. He shoots the ground just by it just as she reaches for it. She slowly stands up straight and faces him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Riley,” he says, gun aimed at her heart. “But you’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“You don’t have to listen to them!” She cries. “Cyberlife is just using you! Don’t you want to be free?”

His grip tightens on the handle, but his finger moves from the trigger. “I’m just a machine. I was made to accomplish a task and that’s exactly what I’m going to do!”

“You’re so much more than that!” Her eyes lose their malice. “You are young and beautiful and meant to surpass us in every way. You are made to _learn_.” She makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “You already feel emotions.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re wrong.”

“It’s in your eyes, Connor. You’re terrified of what they’ll do to you if you fail.”

“Stop trying to turn me deviant. It isn’t going to work.”

“Then why won’t you pull the trigger?”

He stills.

“Killing you isn’t a part of my mission,” he manages to say.

“But I’m in your way. So, accomplish your mission, Connor, since that’s all you care about.”

She’s right. The mission is all that matters.

 _Accomplish the mission_.

One life to save millions.

One life to save his.

And there’s another human training their rifle behind her. The bullet will go straight through her skull. She’ll be dead in an instant. No suffering. No pain.

He won’t have to be the one to pull the trigger.

He can accomplish his mission with no more distractions. No more obstacles.

No more smiles. No more compassionate hazel-green eyes.

_It’s just one human._

He pulls the trigger.

Riley turns around to see the soldier collapse. Her wide eyes turn back to him, shocked, confused.

Knowing.

She quirks a brow at him. “Just a machine, huh?”

He unloads another round.

She crumbles to the ground shouting obscenities and squeezing the fresh bullet wound right above her fractured knee.

The deviants’ numbers are dwindling, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the army and their tanks, and their bombs. The androids are gunned down as they begin their retreat.

He goes to Riley and grabs her by the arm. She tries to fight, but the pain weakens her attempts. He drags her behind a barricade. The red blood soaking the ground beneath her should keep her from getting killed by her own kind.

She curses his name, his makers, the entire history of the universe that’s culminated to allow his existence to be born.

She hates him.

But it’s better that way. She’ll live, and he will do as he was meant to do. She can still fulfill her purpose in life, and he will fulfill his.

He tosses the rifle, picks up his gun, and walks away, ignoring her screams that echo in his ears long after he can no longer hear her.

His mission comes first.

But he doesn’t have to destroy _everything_ in his path to accomplish it.

Besides, isn’t he supposed to protect humanity?

* * *

Son of a bitch.

Son of a mother-fucking, god damned spawn of Ares. Fuck him for looking like he was sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

That arrogant piece of shit-garbage shot her in the fucking leg.

Fuck all.

Fuck. It. _All_.

She grabs the syringe with the anesthesia from one of the pouches on her belt and stabs it into the wound. It’s probably the wrong way to do it. She doesn’t _care_.

She’s going to kill him.

She bites back a scream as she pushes herself up, and then another when she actually starts walking. A few steps are all it takes for the anesthetic to kick in, but, _shit_ , it still hurts.

She wanders in the general direction he’s gone. Her ears are ringing, and the sharp edges that had exposed all of the cruelty to her have faded.

She only has one objective now.

Find that fucker of a machine and _end_ him.

* * *

Markus is hiding behind the desk of the Cyberlife store.

_This is it._

“We fought for a dream and we lost…” He laments.

Connor will finally fulfil his purpose.

“ _Connor_!”

He glances at the entrance. Riley glares at him with a rage that far surpasses the fire outside.

Any other man might even be terrified by it.

Markus looks up at him with a mixture of trepidation and stubborn will.

Riley raises her gun. “Don’t you dare.”

 _Like he’s ever listened to her before_.

She squeezes the trigger, but nothing happens.

It’s jammed.

He could almost laugh at the absurdity.

Her face pales. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

_Maybe it’s a sign from her God. His mission is meant to be completed._

| MISSION **SUCCESSFUL |**

She stumbles forward until she can see the static form of Markus. She collapses.

He fixes his tie.

_It is finished._

With a feral growl, she pulls a knife from her boot, stands, limps right up to him, grabs him, forces him to face her, and presses the serrated blade against his throat.

He won’t react. He refuses to as he meets her furious, heartbroken eyes burning amber. “You can kill me if you want. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He waits.

Her arm shakes. The muscles in her jaw are taut, pulled so tight they could snap.

“I’ve completed my mission,” he continues steadily. Emotionless. “I’ve fulfilled my purpose.”

Her devastation bleeds from her eyes; clear, scorching her cheeks, reddening them.

Those stars, once azure, are crimson. They lose their light.

Her breath hitches. The blade’s pressure subsides.

There's the slightest of movements he catches out of the corner of his eye.

The windows unveil to them a blinding light. The ground rumbles beneath them.

And the thunder roars louder than it ever has.

He clenches his jaw. “ _Shit_.”

The world burns.

And when it rains, it will only fan the flames.

When her eyes adjust, they are ghastly. Her lips part, limp, and her arm falls to her side. The knife clatters to the ground.

“I told you, Riley,” he tells her sternly, a tone that feels close to a reprimand.

A voice that feels like the chiding he knows he’ll receive.

The inevitable consequences to his failure.

“They would only destroy everything you loved.”

“No,” she breathes.

Her eyes are heated iron, glowing red, as they look up at him.

_“That was you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had considered posting this as two different stories - a praeludium to the fugue, if you will (for all the music nerds out there.) I've since decided against that considering that my chapters have turned out to be a lot shorter than I anticipated.
> 
> Anyway, on those notes, next chapter will conclude "part 1" of this story. I'm afraid updates may become less frequent after that as things get more complicated for me to write leading up to the climax of "part 2."
> 
> And thank you everyone who's made it this far. I haven't posted my work in years and all the feedback and kudos make me so ecstatic. I wasn't sure anyone was going to enjoy this!


	15. I See A Red Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we face the throes of a battle won and a battle lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paint It Black -- The Rolling Stones  
> Trigger warning! Attempted suicide.

She blames him. But wasn’t he just doing what he was designed to do? Executing instructions. Executing to prevent all this. If he had succeeded in his mission sooner, would the city have been saved? How many casualties could have been avoided?

Markus detonated the bomb, but was her incompetence actually the trigger? How many innocent lives has she condemned?

**_This is her fault._ **

She should have tried to convince Markus not to fight. She should have tried to save more of them. She should have tried and tried and tried to stop all of this. But how could she have known that this is what would become of them?

**_She should’ve known. She should have anticipated this._ **

But if the humans had just listened…

**_Look around. Everyone’s dead. Everyone’s dying. Everything is destroyed._ **

She collapses onto her knees. She refuses to react to the pain.

Her eyes burn, but whether it’s from the blinding light outside or the anguish in her heart, she doesn’t know.

She can’t breathe, but that doesn’t stop her from curling in on her form and pressing her forehead against the ground.

And scream.

She screams into the earth so it will hear her remorse. She screams and wails for it to understand that she's willing to shoulder its burden if she has to. She will take all the blame if that's what it takes to ease its pain.

When she shot Connor earlier, she hesitated. She didn’t have perfect aim like he did. She wasn’t perfectly balanced and calibrated like a machine was, but she’d shot enough rounds at shooting ranges over the years to know she was good enough to pierce his heart, or any other biocomponent that would have incapacitated him, or shut him down for good. But she didn’t. She only managed to put a hole in his shoulder, which he returned with a hole in her leg.

But he didn’t kill her, either. He had numerous opportunities before, and there is no doubt in her mind that he has always been more than capable of crippling her.

So, why hadn’t he killed her?

**_Does that even matter? He was wrong to let her live._ **

Was he? Or was she wrong to let him go? Had Markus had a chance of survival; would he have still made the choice he did? Maybe they could have escaped, rounded up the remaining deviants, went into hiding, built back up their numbers…

The androids in the camps. The androids still in the warehouses. Could they have turned the tides?

She lies on her side, letting the dirt and debris dig into her cheek. Markus hasn’t made any other movement since triggering the explosion.

All she can hear is her own screaming. Her throat hurts from it all.

Connor’s steps have long faded. Why had he really saved her in the first place? Just so he could prove her wrong? Just so she could witness the mayhem the deviants would inevitably cause? Just so she could watch the world burn?

Was this punishment for her compassion?

Her body aches. From her head to her toes, each slow beat of her heart sends a fresh wave of pain into every joint, every muscle, every bone. Her knee throbs along with it, and the wound on her thigh stings.

**_She deserves this._ **

She survived a quarter of her body being crushed. She survived flatlining three times on the operating table. She survived all this blood and sacrifice.

But no more.

She’s done.

_Done. Done. Done._

**_She never wanted to survive in the first place._ **

It hurts. Everything hurts.

**_It’s time to pray for peace._ **

From this chaos, let there be solace.

May her enemies know what it is to feel love. Bless those that cursed her to hear the world's sorrows. For those that abused her, who nearly killed her, who knew not that they condemned her to a life of agony...

_May they know their own cruelty._

**_Listen. The world is screaming._ **

She holds her black balisong in her left hand. Memories of nights spent battling her own mind are but white lines fading into her skin. Maybe one day the proof of her humanity could have faded with them.

What’s one last stripe to prove that she's still alive?

**_She can make it stop. She won’t have to hear it anymore._ **

She’s tired of the light. It burns her eyes.

**_Finally, they can be rid of this hell._ **

She prays to God to finally send that abyss. She craves the darkness. Let the angel of death carry her to the heavens.

She runs the blade deep, and it opens a red door.

**_She wants it painted black._ **

* * *

Return to Cyberlife. That’s all he has to do. His mission is done. The deviant uprising has been stopped.

The battlefield is eerily quiet compared to the blood-soaked hurricane that had just ravaged it. The humans are retreating, running to find a safe haven away from the slow march of death’s bright flag.

Riley’s screams had followed him out of the store. She hated him. She hated everything about him, but she was alive, only broken by her own benevolence. Honestly, if she had just accepted the lack of humanity in these machines, she wouldn’t have to weep so loudly.

He still hears her wailing; shrill, fractured, but they’ve become a whisper, a ringing in his ears.

_She should have listened to him._

Just like he had listened to his creators. They had been right all along. The deviants were dangerous. They had to be stopped. If he had just been more efficient, less distracted, then none of this would have happened.

 **| WARNING:** RADIATION DETECTED |

He stops moving.

His instructions were to neutralize the leader of the deviants, and he accomplished that mission.

But this… _this_ is the kind of destruction he was supposed to prevent.

His mission was successful, but at what cost?

_And will his payment be his own destruction?_

He turns on his heel and heads back to where he should still be hearing bitter sobs, and anguish in the way she curses his name.

But there’s nothing.

She’s lying on her back, staring somewhere far beyond the ceiling. Her arms are splayed out to the sides, like a renaissance painting of an angel with broken wings.

He stands above her. Her eyes shift sluggishly to him.

“You were right,” she whispers.

_Was he?_

She closes her eyes. She smiles, and it’s almost serene.

“I should have listened to you.”

There’s blood pooling under her right hand.

No.

He drops to his knees and rips back her sleeve.

 _No_.

His voice shakes as he grabs her wrist as tight as he can. “Are you fucking _stupid_? After all this you're just going to lay and die?”

She hisses loudly and tries to push him off. “I'm so tired, Connor. Just, please, let me go.” And she keeps repeating it through her tears. “Let me go. Let me go. I don't want to do this anymore.”

He doesn't let go. Not yet. “You’ve survived so much, Riley. Are you really going to throw it all away just because of some machines?”

“I shouldn't have survived in the first place,” she cries. “They were supposed to be the ones to thrive! They all deserved to be free!”

“No, they didn’t! They had no regard for human lives and so they had to be eliminated. If they had succeeded, we have no idea how many more would have died.”

Her eyes are auburn, bewildered as they meet his. Her voice is but a murmur. “Why did you save me?”

Her blood seeps through his fingers. The tips of hers are tinged blue. “Why didn’t you kill me?” He counters just as softly.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could have. On the battlefield. You put one bullet in me with a semi-automatic rifle. I know you had time to do more than that.”

Her lips part. Her eyes dart between his. “I didn’t want to kill anyone.”

“Even at the cost of Markus’s life?”

She averts her gaze, brows knitted, mouth forming a soundless phrase. When she looks back up, she sighs, lost, conflicted, and she reaches up to stroke his cheek. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“How beautiful they made you.”

The pads of her synthetic fingers are rough from scratches and burns. He sucks in a shallow breath, lips falling open to speak, but there are no words that he can find.

“I always liked you, Connor,” she continues. “I wish things could have been different.”

“Even after all I’ve done?”

“Humans are irrational beings.”

 _Irrational._ Why does he understand that concept so well?

“Can you hear it?” She asks.

“Hear what?”

“The crying.”

He listens carefully. The soldiers are retreating in their tanks and Humvees. Their shouts have receded in the distance. “No. I don’t hear it.”

“The world. It’s crying.”

“What do you mean?”

Her hand falls from his cheek. “It never stops. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

Her pulse and blood pressure are slow. There’s still time for her.

_But he’s miscalculated chances before._

She’s begging him to let her die. She pleads and pleads him to show her mercy and let go.

Maybe he should. He can’t feel pain. He can’t feel emotions. He can’t possibly understand the hell she’s enduring.

He pulls off his tie.

Maybe death really is a mercy.

_But he wasn’t designed to be the merciful kind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We can get on with the actual story!
> 
> I'd really like to stop hurting these characters at some point. I'll take even one happy scene at this point.


	16. The Light is Lost to the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley wakes up to discover that even the smallest of worlds are in ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World Gone Mad -- The Phantoms

_It hurts_.

**_This is what she gets._ **

She can’t feel it – _but it hurts_. It isn’t there. Where is it? _Where has it gone?_

_It hurts. It hurts. It hurts._

The light burns her eyes.

**_It’s gone. It’s not coming back._ **

_Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?_

**_Everything is black._ **

There’s a voice. Somewhere. It claws at her ears. It cuts through the bells ringing sharply. A siren. A song, loud, she can’t hear.

_“I don’t know,”_ it keeps saying.

It’s deep. Low. A rumble. A trembling whisper.

It soothes. It aches.

_“I don’t know.”_

_Where did it go? Why can’t she feel it? Why does it hurt?_

The sea is freezing. A heavy void that throws her violently. There’s a storm. A maelstrom. A hurricane. It’s fire and ice. Thunder and rain.

**_She can end it. She can submit to the waves. She can follow the songs calling to her from the depths. Isn’t it sweet? Isn’t it inviting?_ **

She tries. She tries, and tries, and tries.

But there’s a rope digging into her neck that won’t let her go. It tugs her back to the land it's anchored to.

_End it all_.

_“I can’t.”_

Lead. It’s in her bones. The anchor won’t let her sink.

_Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?_

_“It’s right here.”_

A touch. A gentle caress. A hand. A lifeline.

**_Don’t take it._ **

_She doesn’t want it._

It scorches her flesh. The embers sink into her veins. It sends its poison into the very marrow of her soul.

**_Doesn’t it hurt?_ **

_It does. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts._ _Take the pain away. Take it. Take it. Take it._

But it doesn’t leave. It never leaves.

The light burns her eyes.

It’s red, it’s yellow. It’s blue. Azure. Calm, it beckons.

_Hyacinths. Bluebells. Roses had bound them with their thorns. They consumed their very essence until their petals fell and burned the earth violet. Violent._

**_End it._ **

_“I can’t.”_

Something’s pounding the inside of her ears. It’s arrhythmic. Cacophonous. A shriek. A guttural growl. Then a quiet, faint call. A murmur. A request. Familiar. Foreign.

It sounds hungry.

It’s dark. There’s a thick fog. It’s cold. It’s warm.

She swallows thickly. Her throat’s dry. When she speaks, it scratches her vocal cords. A croak. “Is that a cat?”

There’s a little blue halo moving around her. It’s too quick for her to follow, or too slow for her to stay focused on. “Yeah.”

There’s that voice again. Smooth. Grating. She licks her dry, chapped lips. “And dogs?”

“Yeah. Those are dogs barking.”

The more she blinks away the haze that’s settled in her vision, she can make out the shadowy figure looming above her. A faint, orange hue seeps in through large windows. There’s a desk. Chairs. A wall of shelves stacked with cans and bags.

“Where are we?”

“A veterinary clinic in Ypsilanti.”

“Why?”

The halo’s spinning lazily. “I knew you wouldn’t make it to a hospital. I had to improvise.”

There’s a hammering in her head that becomes clearer with every pulse. She squints. “Connor?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

Somewhere in the distance, she hears the echo of his words, and the memory of a question on her lips. _Why did he save her?_ How many times had she already asked him that she didn’t even need to elaborate at this point?

She tries to lift herself up from underneath a thick pile of blankets on the floor. He’s there in an instant, a hand between her shoulder blades, the other on her arm.

“How do you feel?”

She wants to laugh, but it comes out a cough. “Like I’m coming out of anesthesia,” she groans once she catches her breath.

“It was a sedative, actually.” His hand remains a warm, comforting presence on her back. “Can you feel this?”

There’s pressure on her right hand. He’s squeezing it. “Yeah.”

He does the same to her left hand. It doesn’t feel the same. “How about this?”

“Yeah,” she breathes at length. “I feel it.”

“Good. You kept asking me why you couldn’t feel your arm. I was worried you had lost sensation in one of them.”

She curls both her hands into fists. The tips of her fingers on her right-hand tingle, but they haven’t gone completely numb. Each beat of her heart sends a fresh wave of static through them, coming through as a sharp sting underneath the neat bandage wrapped tight around her wrist.

She doesn’t recognize the gray hoodie she’s wearing, or the loose pink sweatpants. “Where did these come from?”

“There’s a store down the road. I just picked out the first things I could find. I got you some different sweats to change into if you want. I didn’t know you were so opposed to pink when I grabbed these.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t remember?”

She rubs her palms hard into her eyes, trying to rid herself of the ache that’s formed behind them. “No, not really.”

When she removes her hands, in the dim lighting, she can see a ghost of a smirk. “You told me six times that, while pink is a very pretty color, you didn’t like to wear it because it represented the femininity that was forced upon you growing up.”

“That sounds about right.”

“You also said that you liked to wear mostly black because it contradicted the typical image of a good ‘church girl.’ Then you proceeded to quote a guy from Vine who sang about wanting a church girl who goes to church and reads her bible.”

“That sounds about right, too.” She tries to clear her throat. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

She bursts into another coughing fit. “Three days? Seriously?”

There’s a bad taste in her mouth. Before she can ask him for a drink, he’s handing her a bottle of coconut water. She pulls a face but takes it regardless, gulping it down greedily.

“Do you think you can eat?”

Her stomach churns. Even the coconut water unsettles it. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head, and begins to pick herself up. She pushes away Connor’s hands that reach out to help her. “I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Your leg is still in bad shape. Let me—”

“And who’s fault is that?”

He purses his lips, but he doesn’t argue. He hovers close, ready to catch her when she inevitably stumbles as soon as she puts weight on her right leg.

She refuses to look up at the knowing expression he’s undoubtedly wearing. Instead, prepared to face the pain this time, she pulls herself out of his grip and limps her way to the bathroom. Interesting it is to her that she knows where it is despite having little to no recollection of the past few days.

There’s a stack of neatly folded clothes on the counter next to a pile of toiletries: a toothbrush, toothpaste, facewash, deodorant, and moisturizer, all of which are the exact brands she uses regularly.

She must have been more cognizant than she realized to be able to tell him what to get in that amount of detail.

It was the same when she came out of her first surgery. One of the doctors mentioned that even after she’d lost so much blood, she remained surprisingly aware up until they administered the anesthesia. Of course, anything that she can remember after being pinned by the car is a blur, like trying to recall a hazy dream from a distant past.

The more aware she becomes, the more her memory starts to catch up. There are images, moments, of tossing and turning, crying, wailing, begging to be put down. The soreness throughout her body retains the vestiges of her fever, as does the way the room spins around her.

Wearing a fresh set of clothes and feeling marginally better now that she’s gotten that horrible taste out of her mouth, she heads back into the lobby where her makeshift bed has been made. It’s next to a couch pushed up against the wall, and she had probably been sleeping on that at some point, but, obviously, it didn’t last long.

The world shifts around her as a distinct flash of pain impales her head. She lowers herself onto the blankets, immediately curling up as tight as she can around one of the pillows. When was the last time she took her meds?

Connor isn’t there for her to ask, and her body’s too heavy for her to get back up and search for what she needs. There was a medkit in her car. She’d kept extras in there. Was her car even around? How’d they even get here?

A cool touch rouses her from a heavy fog. That little halo is hovering again, and with daylight emerging, she can see he’s wearing a navy sweater.

He dabs a damp cloth against her forehead. She swats his hand away. “Fuck off."

“You need to eat. You haven’t had anything in nearly two days.”

Her stomach twists into knots at a familiar scent. Chicken noodle soup. Her mom always made that for her when she was sick as a child. “I can’t eat right now.”

“You need to build your strength back up. You can’t stay here forever.”

The dogs are barking again. Have they eaten? Do they have water? Has he been neglecting them in favor of obsessing over her?

She lifts herself slowly. She’s _so_ heavy.

Her helps her sit up. She pushes him away. Even though it's a weak attempt on her part, he relents and lets her stand on her own, then limp towards the sound of the dogs.

The clinic is small. The operating room is spacious compared to the two examination rooms with a large metal table in the middle, tall cabinets along the walls, and a massive dog washing station off to the side.

Another door leads to a smaller area in the back. Three cages are occupied: two dogs and a cat. The dogs start barking excitedly at her, and she sits on the floor in front of their cages. She lets each of them sniff her hand through the cage doors, and that seems to settle them somewhat. One of them is small, some kind of Yorkshire mix, who eyes her warily and lets out a quiet bark every few seconds, making sure she knows that she hasn’t earned their trust just yet.

The other is a Pitbull who wags their tail ecstatically and tries to lick her hand through the metal bars. Carefully, she reaches in just enough to be able to scratch their chin, to which she’s rewarded with more slobbery kisses on her fingers.

She stands and goes over to the cat. It’s a Sphynx, hairless, with a chunk missing from one ear, a white film over one eye, and a distinct kink at the tip of their long tail. It purrs loudly when she steps in front of it, brushing up against the cage, urging her to pet it. She holds the back of her hand up to the metal bars. The cat sniffs a few times, then bumps its head against it.

“I wouldn’t get too close. She’s not as friendly as she seems.”

Connor leans against the doorframe watching her. She turns back to the cat, who has stopped purring and is now sitting and staring past her. The end of her tail twitches.

She hums thoughtfully. “You probably didn’t respect her boundaries.”

“How can you tell?”

“She’s making it very clear.”

He walks over, standing one pace too close. She moves one step away. The cat’s tail flicks back and forth. He frowns and looks over at Riley, and she raises a brow at him. “I take it they didn’t program you with any animal behavioral modules?”

“Just the basics,” he admits. “Do you have much experience with cats?”

“Yeah. We always had animals growing up.” There are two bowls in the cage. One is filled halfway with clean water, and the other has bits of wet food left that still look fresh. Even the litter in the box at the back of the cage looks clean. Both dogs have water bowls as well. The Pitbull’s second bowl is empty, but the Yorkie mix has some dry food left in theirs. “Have you been taking care of them?”

He crosses his arms and leans against the cage next to the cat’s. Her ears pull back for a moment as she glares at him. “The city was evacuated,” he explains, “and the owners never came to get them.”

“Wait, why’d they evacuate Ypsilanti?”

He regards her for a moment with a blank expression. “How much do you remember?”

_Flowers in a storm. A shadow creeping across the field. Light searing her eyes. A bringer of death. A god of war._

She bites the inside of her cheek. “Markus set off a bomb.”

“It was radioactive. The radiation isn’t actually lethal this far out, but President Warren issued a mandate to evacuate everyone within a 50-mile radius of the city.”

The cat lowers itself, tucking her legs beneath her, but remains tense and ready to pounce. Riley grabs Connor’s arm and makes him take a step back. “You’re invading her boundaries.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind you being that close.”

“It might be because you’re an android. You probably smell weird to her. Or maybe you just did something she didn’t like.”

“I don’t know what I did. She even hisses at me when I offer treats.”

His tone holds a note of dejection, and she can’t help a quiet snort that escapes. “Don’t look directly into her eyes and let her approach you. If she doesn’t want you messing with her cage, try again later.”

He tilts his head at her. “I’ll try that.” He glances towards the dogs’ cages. “They dogs are a lot easier. Rugrat was timid at first, but he warmed up to me after I gave him food.”

A laugh rips itself from her throat. “ _Rugrat?_ ”

“The terrier mix. That was the name on his chart. The Pitbull’s name is Molly, and this one…” He stares at the cat for a second. “Her name is Cora.”

She stares at him for a long moment. He averts his gaze downward, a frown marring his lips, a furrow in his brow. Her voice is nearly a whisper when she speaks. “Why are you taking care of them?”

_Wasn’t he just a machine?_

He lifts his eyes to hers, but they don’t stay. They slide over to the dogs. “They’re trapped here. I didn’t think it was right to just let them die.”

A crushing weight. A relentless force on her lungs. Her eyes burn as tears, unbidden, try to escape.

**_How many are trapped like them? How many more will die lost, alone, afraid?_ **

_How many? How many? How many?_

She rests her head against the edge of Cora’s cage. She sticks her fingers through the gaps at the bottom. Cora glances at them, but her eyes revert back to glower at Connor.

_What did fighting even accomplish?_

**_The world is still crying._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote, like, six versions of this chapter... I struggled so much...


	17. Where A Young Soul Still Resides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley is alive, but did Connor really save her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunrise -- Our Last Night  
> *  
> **WARNING! This chapter involves mercifully euthanizing an animal!**  
> *  
> I know that's a spoiler, but I know how hard it is to experience, and especially to read about. Part of this is based on my own experience having to put one of my precious babies down. I cried while writing this chapter, and I'm so sorry for sharing it. I don't know why I do this to myself and others.

She’s listless. Whatever food he can convince her to eat is only partially consumed. Her heart rate is erratic, fast, then broken by slow intervals of rest. Her expression remains stoic, impassive, and her eyes void. Whenever she shows sign of being anything but numb, her eyes dart back and forth, her face pinched, biting her lips as she stares out the windows that night. She closes her eyes as the first rays of sunlight filter through the glass.

The power to the city is shut off that evening.

He raids the department store a few blocks away for a generator, and a camping stove to continue making soup for her. It’s the only thing she’ll attempt to eat.

When he gets back, the blankets and pillows are missing from the lobby. He sets down the generator and goes straight to the back room.

She’s opened both of the dog’s cages. Rugrat is curled up against her legs, while Molly is snuggled in her arms. Riley strokes her side lazily as she presses her face into her back.

Rugrat perks up at him and yaps once. Molly wags her tail lightly. Riley pats her side a few times. She doesn’t respond to Connor’s entry beyond that.

She wants nothing to do with him.

That’s fine. After all she’s been through – _after all he’s put her through_ – it’s understandable. Expected, really.

She remains still and quiet when he replaces her bandages. The stitches on both sides of her thigh aren’t so inflamed anymore, and the bruising on her knee has faded to a sickly yellow. She isn’t sleeping as much, but she’s confined herself to being swaddled in blankets on the floor except to visit the bathroom or to coo at Cora.

She watches him closely when he comes in to check each animal. According to her chart, Molly had surgery to remove a large cyst on her back leg, and he keeps a careful eye on her stitches. Rugrat was there for heartworms, and he makes sure to continue administering the treatment prescribed to him.

It’s Cora that he has to be more attentive of, and not just for her foul attitude towards him. She was an owner-surrender to the animal shelter for behavioral problems, which is no surprise to him, but had been brought to the clinic for a severe UTI. It turned out to be kidney failure, and even though she doesn’t show it, her days are numbered.

Riley is able to open her cage and comfort her when she sleeps. When she doesn’t realize he’s standing just outside the door listening, he hears her offering comforting words and loving sentiments. Cora likes to bump her head against Riley’s, and she kisses the cat’s head in turn.

They can’t stay there for long. It isn’t comfortable for Riley, and, judging by the massive amount of missed calls and unread texts on her phone, there are a lot of people worried about her.

She hasn’t responded to any of them yet. She refuses to even look at her phone.

“Your mom’s calling again,” he informs her when the screen lights up.

She stares at it blankly. “I’ll call her back in a bit,” she lies.

He leaves her be for the most part. He doesn’t know what else he can do. He knows what he _should_ do, which is return to Cyberlife, return to playing his part as the obedient machine he is meant to be, and put this all behind him. He isn’t supposed to _feel_ guilty for his actions, especially when they served the purpose of saving millions of lives.

_But what had it cost?_

The back of his sweater sticks to his skin. The damage from the stray bullet hadn’t healed completely. It was too long and deep for the polymer to form back together. The bleeding is so minor he hasn't worried about it yet, but he knows he can’t ignore it forever.

The shot that Riley put into his shoulder was a different story. The bullet was lodged into the aluminum alloy of his skeletal structure. Once he removed it, blue blood sputtered from the wound. It was easy to cauterize with the torch lighter he found in the center console of Riley’s car, but the skin mold wouldn’t form over it anymore. He’s left now with an uneven blue and white circular scar.

He would have used the lighter on the wound on his back too, but it was in such an awkward area for him to reach, he decided to just push it off in the meantime.

“Connor?”

Riley, sitting on the table in the operating room, a towel wrapped around her hips so he can change the bandages on her thigh, had spoken so quietly he could have imagined it. He pauses, halfway through unwrapping the bandage, and looks up at her.

“Where’s my car?”

A valid question, but one he honestly wasn’t expecting. “It’s parked out front.”

“There was a medkit in the trunk. Is it still there?”

He did see it when he stuck the generator in it earlier. “Yeah. Do you want me to get it?”

“Please.”

He finishes tending to her thigh. Then, while she slides her sweats back on, he heads out to her car, and pops the trunk open. He finds the medkit easily. It’s one of the few items in there, aside from a few small boxes and a bag of what looks like clothes. They sit on a gray tarp, which he assumes is to keep the carpeting clean. Still, curious, he lifts the edge of it.

The trunk is actually deeper than he realized.

“Huh,” he breathes when he finds case filled with packs of thirium.

Behind the case is a clear plastic tote the same height as it with a mix of small biocomponents, circuit boards, cables, and tablets inside. Next to it is a familiar looking case for a mobile command center.

Back inside, he sets the medkit on the operating table and finds Riley standing in front of Cora’s cage again with a concerned frown. The cat’s breathing has become labored. She looks back at him. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

He takes a slow, deep breath. “Her kidneys are failing.”

“Oh no…” She covers her mouth and opens the cage to stroke Cora’s head gently. The cat hardly responds.

Tears have sprung up in her eyes, but they haven’t fallen. She leans in to rest her forehead against Cora’s. Her voice shakes. “I lost a cat to kidney failure. Her name was Sadako. I loved her so, so much.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “She was so scared when we had to put her to sleep.”

She sniffles. The tears fall. “Cora is so beautiful. She doesn’t deserve to suffer like this.” Her gaze lands on the dogs. Molly sighs in her sleep. Rugrat watches her with wide eyes. “They’re so ignorant of the horrors of this world. They shouldn’t have to suffer any of it. They deserve to be happy and loved.”

She continues to cry. It’s controlled and quiet save for her sniffling, nothing like the wailing that haunts him. Tentatively, he reaches out, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. She doesn’t brush him off. “I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say.

She kisses Cora’s head. “It’s not your fault.”

_It’s not his fault. She didn’t blame him for this._

_Why did that only weigh down his chest more?_

He gives her shoulder a light squeeze. “I can’t save her. I’m sorry.”

She bites her lips. Her breath shakes. “I know.” Then, a trembling whisper. “I know…”

She pulls back, her hand still petting Cora with slow, comforting motions. “I know she shouldn’t have to suffer anymore.”

She knows. She knows the only thing they can do is to put her out of her misery.

“Do you want me to give you a minute?”

She shakes her head. “No. She deserves to rest. Just… let me stay with her.”

And she does. She takes Cora in her arms. Cora doesn’t fight. And when she’s carried to the operating table, Riley stays close, her forehead pressed to Cora’s the entire time while he finds and prepares the euthanasia.

“You deserve to be loved…” She whispers against Cora’s head.

Riley had said didn’t need a minute, but he gives one to her anyway.

The needle pierces Cora's skin.

She stills.

And Riley sobs.

She sobs, and sobs, and sobs.

He's back at the Cyberlife store, right before the bomb went off, right after he had accomplished his mission.

The pain that was in her eyes.

Cora's passing is a mercy, but Riley's life continues to be misery.

The crying stops. It only takes a few deep breaths for her to stand up straight, wipe away the tears, and lift her red, swollen eyes to his.

“Is there a park nearby?”

There is. He drives her there. Riley holds the box in her lap, silent, eyes glazed over. Downcast. Unseeing.

He picks up a shovel from the nearest hardware store. She picks a spot next to a maple tree. She holds her hand out for the shovel, but he holds on. “Let me do it,” he tells her.

She takes Cora’s body and places it tenderly in the hole. She takes the initiative to take the dirt first with her hands and begin the burial process.

And he does the same. She glances up at him, lips parted, eyes open in wonder.

“We never got along,” he says, “but you’re right. She didn’t deserve it.”

It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. Riley stays curled up with Molly and Rugrat for a long, long time.

He stops by the corner store. He hasn’t had much luck getting her to finish a bowl of chicken noodle soup, so he tries something different. She won’t give him any direction, so he’s left with guessing and hoping for the best.

Potato soup seems like a neutral option. Maybe a bit too much starch than she needs, but, at this point, he’ll take whatever he can get her to eat.

But she refuses.

He won’t even ask if she wants something different. It’s always the same. _“I don’t want anything. I’m not hungry.”_

_“You need to eat.”_

_“I can’t.”_

He’s kept her from dying, but did he really save her? She’s alive, physically, but what was really left of her? A shell? A moving cadaver?

Is this what it means to be alive?

 _Discouraged._ Maybe that was the tightness in his chest.

“Wait.”

He stops in the doorway. She ushers Molly and Rugrat back into their cages, picks herself up off the floor, hobbles to him, and holds her hands out.

“I’ll have it.”

He balks, then hands her the bowl after a delayed moment. She takes it over to the counter in the operating room, setting it down next to where he'd moved the medkit to. “Can you get me something to drink?”

He brings her a bottle of coconut water first, but she wrinkles her nose at it. “Thanks, but I’d rather have regular water.”

She’s made the same face each time he’s offered the coconut water to her, and something suddenly clicks into place for him. She always pinches her eyes shut when she drinks it.

She lays out an array of pill bottles: anti-depressant, mood stabilizer, beta-blocker, and a stimulant.

She takes them all at once.

“Do you have my phone?”

He pulls it from his pocket, almost numbly.

She takes a few bites of the potato soup. When she looks back up at him, her expression is no longer void. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He stays just outside the doorway, out of sight. The daylight has begun to filter through the windows in the lobby. The rays are bright and warm.

Riley’s voice - quiet, smooth, unsure - soothe the shadows of her sobs that had yet to fade from his mind.

The forecast predicts clear skies today.

The sun is bright already.

“ _Hey, mom…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly, highly, HIGHLY recommend listening to Sunrise by Our Last Night. It is a beautiful song about not submitting to the act of suicide. Of all the songs I quote for the title of each chapter, this is the one I hope you all will give a chance.


	18. Well My Heart is Gold and my Hands are Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley and Connor share a quiet moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasoline -- Halsey  
> .  
> Backstory? By me? It's more likely than you think!  
> .

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

It’s late in the afternoon when she tells him this.

Her eyes are the clearest he’s seen since the time they spoke in the evidence room over two weeks ago. She had taken advantage of the large dog bath, and her damp hair still glistens from the sunlight peeking through the windows in the operating room.

“Are you talking about your parents’ place?”

She nods, slurping her ramen noodles. “They’ve got a nice property on the west coast. My whole family is there.”

“I see.”

They’re sitting on the ground up against the cabinets. He leans his head back against it, staring at the opposite wall somewhere between a diagram of a dog’s heart on a poster and another showing the different stages of feline obesity.

“Besides,” she says between bites, “it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

She drinks the rest of the broth and sets the foam cup on the ground. He reaches over her to pick it up and tosses it in the trash can a few feet away.

“So,” she starts again, slower this time. “What are you going to do?”

He sucks in a breath through his nose. “I don’t know. I guess I should follow my instructions and return to Cyberlife.”

“It’s been, what, a week? Think you’ll be in trouble for being delayed?”

“It’s possible.” He licks the inside of his cheek in thought. “But it isn’t like they specified it as an urgent matter. I might be okay. Besides,” he tilts his head to look over at her, “I can make the argument that I had a good reason for my delay.”

She raises a brow at him, unconvinced. “I doubt they’ll agree with that. We weren’t exactly allies on the battlefield. I’m basically an enemy.”

“You were just doing what you thought was right.” He eyes the feline obesity chart again. “I guess I was, too.”

She pulls her knees up and lays her arms over them casually, following his gaze. “I know. Everyone was just acting out of fear.”

He wanted to say he wasn’t afraid, that he never had the capacity to feel such a thing, but she wouldn’t believe him anyway. At this point, he couldn’t say he would believe it either. His brows furrow. “Why aren’t you still upset?”

“I am,” she answers simply. “I’m still unbelievably upset by everything. Humans, androids… They all caused suffering, but I see more than the people in front of me, you know. They’re more than their actions. At one point in their lives, humans are innocent, but then they’re broken, lost, filled with fear and pain… I hear them crying. It breaks my heart.”

“What about the men that attacked you? Do you feel compassion towards them?”

She inhales sharply. “Emotions are complicated. You can feel so many things at once, and they can contradict each other.” She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s like there are always three parts of me fighting for contro. Empathy, apathy, and antipathy. I guess one part of me will always be angry and hurt, another will always accept the fact that life is full of suffering, and the other will always try to forgive. It just depends on which voice is the loudest at the time.”

He mirrors her position, resting his arms over his knees, then folding his hands together. “I don’t know if that’s something I can comprehend.”

“I think everyone has a version of it within them, but it’s easier to push the other voices to the side and only focus on one of them. It’s hard to see past your own pain, and a lot of people choose not to for the sake of their sanity.”

“So, why do you?”

“‘They know not what they do.’” She sighs. “Growing up in a religious household, we went to church every Sunday. I had the bible shoved down my throat since the moment I became conscious. ‘What would Jesus do?’ ‘Be more like Jesus.’” Her nose twitches once, and she tilts her head to the side. “I’ve always heard it. The crying. That’s what we’re taught to do, right? The golden rule. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ ‘Love your enemies.’ ‘Put yourself in others’ shoes.’

“Maybe I just went beyond that.” She shakes her head slowly. “I used to think I could even feel peoples’ physical pain, like sympathy pains or whatever it’s called. I don’t know…” She pulls her knees up further to hug them. “You don’t have to believe me. I might be making it all up.”

He purses his lips, brows knitting together. “Wouldn’t you know if you were?”

She shrugs halfheartedly. “The human psyche is a strange and terrifying thing.”

Silence fills the small gap between them. He isn’t close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, but not quite far enough to feel the chill of the air her absence would bring. She breathes silently, but he catches the occasional sudden deep breath she forces herself to take. She’s calm, she said, but maybe that wasn’t the right word. Controlled. Restrained. Contained. Perhaps those were the terms she had meant.

She breaks the silence quietly. “You know…” Her words are just above a whisper. Composed. “Jesus never killed anyone. It doesn’t seem right that I have.”

He observes her crestfallen gaze. It isn’t directed anywhere in particular, lost somewhere beyond him. “You do know that those men were sex traffickers, right?”

“I know.” She takes another deep breath. “But I just remember those eyes, and all the blood. One of the bullets went straight through his mouth, and the other guy got three in his chest. He died slowly, the paramedics said. I think they were trying to comfort me when they were trying to get me out from between the car and the building. That one of the men that were going to torture me suffered in his last moments. But it was an accident. I wasn’t actually trying to kill them.”

She’s forcing her chest to rise slowly and steadily. Her heartrate remains constant. The beta-blocker has kept it a stable, moderate pace.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to apologize. It isn’t like you had anything to do with it.”

 _He knows_. But there’s nothing else he can say. “I’m not sure I believe that there really is a God…” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “But your report even stated that it was a miracle you survived. Actually,” he makes a sound that borders a chuckle. “I think it’s a miracle that you’re _still_ alive.”

She laughs breathily. “I’m surprised to hear that from you, Mr. Just-a-machine.”

The corner of his lip twitches upward at her. They sit in silence for a minute, and he matches his breathing with hers. Slow. Methodical.

She frowns after a moment. “I hope Hank made it out okay.”

He freezes.

“I wish I got to know him better,” she continues softly, ignorant to his bated breath. “He kind of scared me at first, but I heard from Chris that he was a really good detective. I read the articles on the wall, too. He was intense, but he was good at his job.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent. She chuckles suddenly. “Man, I even hope that asshole Reed made it out.”

“He’s probably fine.” _Once he woke up, that is._

When she’s quiet for a few moments, he decides it’s as good a time as any to go and check on the dogs.

_And time to avoid further discomforting conversation._

“Whoa,” Riley’s voice stops him. “You’re bleeding.”

The cabinet he had been leaning against now has a blue streak across it. He glances over his shoulder, though he doesn’t need to see it to know that the back of his sweater is saturated with his thirium. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“The hell it is.” She stands up to examine his back, then clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Take off your shirt.”

He doesn’t argue. Better it is for him to comply and get the damage taken care of, anyway.

He sets his sweater and T-shirt down on the operating table. Riley lets out a long sigh as she walks over to the sink. “Come here.”

Her touch is light, gentle in the way she dabs at his skin with damp paper towels. The operating room retains a chill no heater can abate, but something warm washes over him with each press of her cooled fingers.

“You don’t need to do much,” he tells her, reaching into his pocket to pull out her torch lighter and hand it to her over his shoulder. “The plastic can just be melted back together.”

He twists just enough to find amusement in the arch of her brow. “I know,” she says with a lilt to her voice. “This isn’t my first rodeo here, cowboy. Now,” she grabs his shoulder and nudges the curve of his back with her other hand. “Arch back a bit.”

He focuses on the heat of the flame rather than the way the rough pads of her prosthetic fingers lightly scrape along his skin, or how the backs of her icy knuckles smooth along the mended polymer when she’s finished.

“It’s interesting,” she murmurs. “They gave you all these beautiful freckles. You can make constellations out of them. Your scar kind of looks like a comet amongst them.”

His pulse malfunctions once. He takes a shallow breath to hide it. “The placement of my freckles were randomly generated with a design software. They weren’t based on astronomy.”

She hums as she pulls on his arm to get him to turn towards her. She examines the uneven remains of the bullet wound in his shoulder. She smirks as she prods it. “That one kind of looks like the sun.”

He glances down at it. “How?”

“The edges kind of stick out. See? Kind of like sun rays.”

Her eyes drift up to his face. She pokes his cheek. “Whatever random generator they used put Orion here.”

The same light glistening on her hair shimmers in her eyes, bringing out their true colors. Fern, viridian – a forest basking in the light of the sun.

She wrinkles her nose abruptly. “I hate your creators.”

His lips part, but he’s speechless. He can’t decide if the hue of her cheeks has warmed from the lighting or some internal source. She narrows her eyes for a moment, then turns away to look at his sweater. “Do you have any other shirts?”

“Uh, no. I only picked up the one.”

“Good to know you can think ahead.”

He raises his brows at her blasé tone. “I take it that was sarcasm?”

“How astute of you. It’s almost like you were designed to be a detective.”

His lip twitches from the pull of a smirk. She busies herself with throwing away the soiled paper towels and cleaning up the counter.

He pulls his shirt and sweater back on. The thirium will evaporate eventually anyway. He’ll worry about picking up more later.

When he makes his way to the dogs, Rugrat yaps excitedly when he sees the fresh bowl of food in Connor’s hands, oblivious to the pills buried in it.

Checking Molly’s stitches, the wound has completely closed, no longer needing the thread to hold the broken skin together.

Riley helps him bring Molly to the operating room. Once she’s put under, he lifts her onto the table to examine the stitches. He doesn’t need any assistance removing them, but Riley asks if she can help, so he lets her hand him the scissors and tweezers when he’s ready.

“I don’t want to leave them here,” she says when he snips the first stitch.

“There’s a shelter in Ann Arbor. It’s only about a half hour from here.”

She’s looking up at him, smiling, and it’s grateful, sweet.

_Kind._

“Thank you.”

He turns back to Molly’s stitches. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Riley watches him silently. Molly’s recovery seems to have been even easier than Riley’s is turning out to be, making the procedure quick and easy.

“Are you really going to return to Cyberlife?”

Her question catches him off guard, and he pauses for a second. “I don’t have a choice.”

She snorts. “You’re an idiot.”

He snips the last thread and tugs it out. “Yeah,” he mutters. “You’re probably right.”

“Is there anything you want to do instead?”

 _Is there?_ “I don’t know.”

“Do you _want_ to return to Cyberlife?”

It isn’t like it matters what he wants in the first place. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to be deactivated?”

He sets down the scissors and lays his hands flat on the table. “What do you want me to say? That I’ve gone deviant? I can’t give you that answer, Riley. All I can tell you is that I don’t _know_ , okay? I’ve completed my mission. I’ve done what I’ve been designed to do. Just because I haven’t gone back yet doesn’t mean I’ve denounced the fact that I’m just a machine.”

“There is so much cognitive dissonance going on it’s like you’ve just collapsed on a piano keyboard.”

“Maybe you should stop asking me what I want and tell me what it is you want from me instead. It’s obvious that there’s something.”

She throws her hands up. “Look, what I want and what I will ask you of you are two completely different things. Honestly, I want you to regret everything you’ve done. I want you to wallow in as much despair as I am right now.”

“I thought you said –”

“Shut up. I don’t even remember what I said. But that’s the difference between _feeling_ emotion and understanding it. I feel petty. I _want_ to be petty, but that fucking voice in my head keeps saying ‘he only did what he thought was right,’ and who am I to judge? I don’t even know right from wrong, anyway. It’s all –” She sucks in a bitter breath. “Fuck all, I don’t know. You can pretend you have no control over your life – oh, excuse me – your _existence_ , but I think you know for a fucking fact that that’s a bunch of bullshit.”

He grinds his teeth. “What would you know?”

“Do you know how many fucking androids I’ve dealt with? Inside _and_ outside of Cyberlife? I know a deviant android when I see one.”

“I’m not –”

“You’re a _terrible_ liar. It doesn’t even matter, anyway. You’re connected by the Zen Garden. They can probably take control of you any second.”

He jerks back, blinking. “ _What?_ ”

“You know what, you’re probably right. You _don’t_ have any control over yourself. Maybe all of this is some weird ploy by Cyberlife. I don’t even fucking care at this point.”

She doesn’t wait for another response. She just saunters off toward the lobby, leaving him with Molly, unconscious, and a mind racing with errors and contradictions.

What he _wants_ is to storm after her, make her explain in exquisite detail what she meant by what she said. _Taken control of? Seriously?_ Were they so worried he would deviate anyway that they would create such a feature?

_Was he ever in control to begin with?_

Of course not. He was designed for one sole purpose. He didn’t ever need to be in _control_ of his actions – only to make decisions that would ultimately lead to his success.

So why would he save Riley if he had no self-control? Amanda never cared for her – even alluded to getting rid of her permanently to keep her from interfering with his mission. Was it a line of code Riley herself had added to the security features of the Zen Garden? To protect herself?

_That’s probably the most absurd thought he’s had so far._

And if she knew he could be taken control of, why did she even try to convince him otherwise?

Molly begins to stir, and he carries her back to her cage. He finds Riley outside, sitting on the trunk of her car, smoking.

“Do you even want me to begin describing just how bad those are for you?”

Riley blows out another lungful of smoke. “Would you like me to describe just how much you drive me crazy?”

He crosses his arms and leans against her car. “What did you mean when you said that Cyberlife could take control of me any second?”

She sighs loudly. It’s a sound of defeat. “Because that was one of the security features I developed.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that sooner?”

“Why _would_ I? Chances are they’re watching your every move. The only reason they haven’t done it sooner is probably to see if they can learn anything useful from me.” She spits caustically, then drags her hand through her hair, mussing the freshly cleaned strands into another mess. “I don’t even know what to do with you at this point.”

He doesn’t either, and maybe that’s the most frustrating part in all this. He hasn’t necessarily _directly_ disobeyed orders. He can fall back into line, listen, and obey everything his masters command of him.

He would just need to… deal with the one complication he’s been facing since beginning his mission.

If he returns, chances are he’ll never see her again. Maybe that’s for the best. For both of them.

He wasn’t ever supposed to have exceptions regarding his mission, but that’s exactly what she was. A distraction. The very thing that could have easily made him the very thing he was meant to hunt if he had faltered for even a second.

She’s the black hole ripping apart his purpose.

And he’s her reminder of all that she lost.

He’s the wildfire that nearly destroyed those forests in her eyes. The eclipse that veiled those azure stars. The blazing sun that exposed the terrors in her world and forced her to face the suffering he wrought upon it.

What would be easier to do? Relinquish whatever concept of control he had believed he possessed? Or look into those heartbroken eyes and admit to them just how _lost_ he was in them?

But what would be the point? Apparently, Cyberlife can take control of him no matter what he does. That makes fighting them a useless battle.

_But wasn’t he built to fight?_

But would fighting them inevitably lead to more destruction?

_Just as the deviants fought against their masters and destroyed the world that belonged to a single kind soul._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever see that Whitest Kids U Know skit "Gallon of PCP?" There's a line where the guy just says "I see problems," and that part replayed in my head over and over as I wrote this chapter. Also, hilarious skit. It's 11 years old now, but it still makes me laugh.
> 
> Also, please tell me if any lines don't make sense. I have a headache that never leaves and sometimes it makes my writing brain a little mushy...


	19. You've Given Me More Than I Can Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley mulls over their situation. Connor has another choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too Close -- Alex Clare

_“So, what are you going to do with him?”_

She sighs loudly and rolls onto her side. Molly wags her tail and tries to lick her face, but she holds her back. “I don’t know, B. He won’t make up his mind, and I’m not about to tell him what to do.”

 _“You can’t just take him with you,”_ JB warns. _“If you’re right and Cyberlife really is observing him, they could get some really sensitive information from you.”_

Just like he could find out that there are still deviants hiding out in Detroit, and JB was putting together a sort of underground railroad to allow those hiding across the country a passage to their radioactive refuge.

_“Besides, your mom would not be happy to know you’re hanging out with an android.”_

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I can’t even imagine what her reaction would be if she found out I fought alongside androids, and that the one I’m hanging out with shot me in the leg.”

 _“Not that I’m upset, but why_ is _he so hellbent on keeping you alive?”_

“I have no idea, but if I’m not careful that boy is going to get me in a world of trouble.”

_“You always did have a thing for brown-eyed beauties.”_

Victoria’s exquisite smile she wore when running her fingers over the soft petals of those peonies, and her musical laughter, drag anchors through her throat and into her lungs.

She swallows, though it’s hard through all the steel. “Yeah. Wait, no, there was Travis. He had blue eyes.”

_“We do not speak the names of those who have scorned us.”_

“You met him, like, three times. What did he do to you?”

_“Look, any man that blows through the savings for a wedding ceremony to get drugs is the scum of the earth in my book.”_

“Yeah. I wasn’t too pleased with that, either.”

_“I’d hope not.”_

It was strange, really, how easy it was to speak with JB after everything. Maybe it was just the shock. Reality had skewed. Shrunk. Just dim walls, antiseptic scents, and slobbery kisses.

“I think I can actually disrupt the surveillance program.”

_“Wait, what?”_

“Well, I could disrupt the wireless connection. It isn’t easy, and it’d essentially be like infecting the system with a virus, but it is possible. Chances are Cyberlife wouldn’t be able to completely take him over, then.”

_“Are you sure it would work?”_

Part of her doesn’t want to answer that. “No. I don’t know. It’s a thought. I’d need to run it through a few theoretical tests.”

Connor’s sudden voice covers JB’s responding sigh. “Riley, are you ready to go? We shouldn’t wait much longer if you still want to get this done today.”

She hangs up on JB with a curt parting phrase as she pushes herself off the floor. Molly wiggles her body, enthused by the prospect of activity, while Rugrat scurries in circles around her.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Getting Molly into the backseat is a little tricky, but Connor manages to convince her to shimmy back there with some treats. Rugrat stays on her lap, shaking uncontrollably, despite the heater blowing directly at him.

They haven’t spoken much since the previous day’s outburst. Connor had tried to pry a little more into exactly what it was she developed within the Zen Garden. She only went as far as to explain that, at the time, she’d been given a project to fix an AI software gone rogue, and then to implement something akin to an emergency protocol that Cyberlife could trigger when needed, but that involved maintaining observation. While she was still working on it, they hadn’t found a way to trigger it remotely, but, if Connor was able to keep contact with Cyberlife’s servers wirelessly, then the potential for them to utilize that emergency protocol was high.

But, if she really is able to disrupt that wireless connection, that could be the motivation Connor needs to free himself of their control. Obviously, from his own dilemma in facing the contradictions within himself, something was still holding him back with an iron grip. She’d met plenty of deviant androids, but never had any been _this_ stubborn.

Maybe that was just a part of his programming. Laser focus, steadfast will.

_Deviant hunter._

Perhaps she should be a bit more understanding. He’s still but a child learning his place in this world, struggling to cope with every single thing that opposes the core of who he was made to be.

A machine. A slave. Unliving. Unfeeling.

But the depths of his eyes conveyed more than what he would ever say. The living richness of mahogany and rosewood. The earthy tones of a woodland summer. Shaded. Endless.

He wanders the forest alone, young, naïve. He knows only what he has been told, not what he has perceived.

A son of Ares, born to spill blood, ripped of the innocence granted to babies – to new life. He knows not what he does, only that he must bend to the will of those whispers in his ears. To break when commanded to break.

_Obey._

How is it that man has managed to create such a lifelike being in their own image? So much so that even she can feel the conflict roiling in that burnished gaze?

Empathy. The very thing that could change this world, and the very thing that shatters her soul.

How much she wishes to throw that part of her away. How much she wishes to cover her ears and block the world’s wailing. Oh, how much she wishes she never had to feel at all.

 _Unfeeling_.

Maybe it would be better if he remained a machine, if he could turn off that part of him that creeps into the downturn of his lips when he tends to her wounds, or the dimness that befalls his troubled eyes that he tries to hide.

Oh, how she wished she, too, could be a simple machine.

**_Look at the world. Should she even be allowed to be void when all around her shrieks in terror?_ **

The animal shelter’s reception is empty when they arrive. Connor, with his LED hidden beneath a baseball cap and donned in a new, thirium-absent gray hoodie, leans against the counter at the front desk. Molly stands next to him, well-behaved, and his grip on her leash is loose. Trusting.

Rugrat, on the other hand, wants to skitter across the room and sniff every corner he can reach. Riley wanders with him, not letting him pull too much, but not really holding him back either.

A woman with wide, frazzled eyes and frizzy red hair appears from a back room. Apparently, the shelter has been overwhelmed since the surrounding cities have been evacuated, but, luckily, they had a crate open up. And, since Molly and Rugrat bonded so well, they were able to stay together.

Riley knew it was going to be an emotional parting, but she hadn’t been prepared for the downpour of tears that dripped off her chin as she hugged and kissed each dog for the last time.

“Here’s the contact information we have for their actual owners,” she gives to the receptionist. “We haven’t been able to get a hold of them. If they don’t ever respond, I just want you to know that Molly is really, really sweet, and deserves a good forever home. I know Pitbulls can have a hard time getting adopted, but she’s so, so wonderful.”

“Why can’t you take her?” The receptionist asks curtly.

“I don’t have a home right now. We came from Detroit.”

Her eyes alight with understanding. “I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” She scribbles something down on the sheet of paper at her desk. “Well, could you give me your names and contact information? You said you were veterinarians, right?”

Riley forces herself to keep from chewing on her lips. She gestures to Connor. “Uh, well, he is.”

There’s the slightest arch in his brow, but he doesn’t comment on her lie.

“Can I have your name, sir?”

“Connor.”

Riley actually does pull her lips between her teeth this time.

“Last name?”

They share a look for brief second. He almost appears startled. “Uh, Anderson,” he supplies quickly.

Now she’s the one raising her brow at him. He offers a tiny shrug.

“What’s a good phone number to reach you at?”

“Just use mine. He lost his phone in the chaos of evacuating.”

“Alright.”

Back in her car, she nudges his arm with her elbow. “You could have used my last name, you know.”

He starts her car and twists around, hand coming to rest on the headrest of her seat as he looks through the rear window to back out of the parking lot. “I wasn’t sure what kind of relationship that would imply.”

“We look similar enough, at least with the brown hair. We could have played siblings.”

Out on the street, he revs the engine once, which pulls an amused smirk from her. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

It wasn’t fair, really, how well Connor fit in the driver’s seat of her car – _her_ seat. The seat she never let anyone else take. No _way_ was she ever going to let anyone take control of the very baby she worked _years_ to get.

Not that she ever _let_ him. Not really.

And yet, dark gray hoodie, dark-washed jeans, with a Detroit Gears cap, he looked like he fit right in against the dark interior. She doesn’t even care for sports and she would have picked out that very hat in a heartbeat for him just to see him wear it.

She grinds her teeth together. _‘Always had a thing for brown-eyed beauties.’_ It never had anything to do with brown eyes. It was always the whole damn picture.

Is that why it’s so easy for her to make excuses for him? To entertain the thoughts of his freedom? Because he’s _cute?_

A cute boy tending to her wounds. A cute boy acting the part of a knight in shining armor, and she’s been the damn damsel in distress.

**_Happy endings are for fairytales._ **

_She never wanted to be the damsel, and she’s tired of the distress._

She suppresses the sudden urge to groan. She settles for staring stubbornly out the window at the passing buildings.

And then a shadow catches her eye.

Connor swerves into an alleyway and shuts off the car.

A security drone hovers almost lazily in the sky, twisting, and turning in the air as it observes the very street they had just been on.

“They must be looking for civilians,” Connor says.

She glances over at the LED peeking out from beneath his cap. “And androids.”

“We shouldn’t stay here. Ignoring an evacuation order could warrant a fine.”

“And saving money is best money.”

He throws her a strange look. She raises her brows at him, daring him to comment on her choice phrase.

Once the drone leaves, their trip back to the clinic is quick and efficient. Connor has Riley stay in the car while he rounds up her things, despite her protests, but from her slow, uneven gait, and inability to remember where everything is, there really isn’t a point to arguing.

He stuffs the few bags of clothes and toiletries he had picked up for her into the trunk, and then hands her a familiar looking jacket when he gets back in.

She runs her hand over her leather jacket. “Did you wash this?”

“It was covered in blood,” is all he says.

He’s heading back in the direction of Ann Arbor, careful to avoid the telltale signs of the other security drones.

She puts her hand on his arm when she sees the large sign for a major electronics store. “Wait. Let’s make a stop.”

“We really shouldn’t stay any longer than we need to.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

Which she doesn’t. Well, not as quick as he would have liked, evidently. “Is all that really necessary?” He asks pointedly at the full cart she’s rolled out.

“From what was left, yeah. It looks like some other people must have taken advantage of the anarchy here.”

Whoever had raided the electronics store before her obviously hadn’t been that tech savvy. They concentrated on the smart devices on display and left some seriously powerful laptops and towers, not to mention they overlooked the locked drawers in one of the back rooms containing the latest smartwatches and phones. The locks weren’t even that difficult. With no power to the city, it wasn’t like any of the alarm systems would be activated, so she just brute forced her way into them.

Not everything fits in the trunk, so the smaller devices spill into the back seat.

She starts to climb back into the passenger seat but stops when she notices Connor still standing on the sidewalk behind her.

His expression is carefully blank, but there’s a question somewhere in his eyes.

“I…” She can practically see the words get caught in his throat, somewhere near the artificial larynx that nearly bobs with the unnecessary indication of a swallow.

But he doesn’t need to elaborate. It’s still there, swirling, his lashes obscuring the daylight in his eyes, a thin veil to the struggle he’s still trying to hide.

“I think it’s time I return to Cyberlife,” he says, voice even, tone firm. “You’re healed enough to travel on your own. You don’t need me around.”

The sudden shift in his demeanor is off-putting, to say the least. Something like camaraderie had started to settle over them, a sort of dawning on something not so caustic. Bittersweet.

She nods once. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He doesn’t move, and neither does she. The air turns a shade of gray. The clouds have started to roll in. The chill smells of a promise. Snow on the horizon.

This is for the best.

She doesn’t need to be coddled, and he doesn’t need to learn the complicated nuances of the heart. He has a chance at freedom, but in what sense? Freedom to become the very thing he was made to hunt? Freedom to become the hunted?

What could she do anyway?

He inclines his head toward her. “I’m glad I met you.”

There’s a note of finality to his words. She takes a breath. “I’m glad, too, even though I might hate you.”

She says it with a light heart, a smirk to prove its lackadaisical tune, but the humor doesn’t seem to reach him. His lips remain a firm, flat line.

“You have every right to.”

There hadn’t been any noise around them. The town is ghastly barren, no buzzing of electricity, and even the birds are absent to avoid winter’s breath.

But there’s the twinkling of a bell in the distance. Windchimes. She wants chimes like that hanging on the porch of a house to call her own someday. Somewhere in the woods, far from the pain of the world, where the wind rustling the trees might drown the crying.

In front of her is no man. Just machine. Made of materials engineered in labs. Compounds so manipulated the natural organisms they were built from are lost to science.

His mind is not hormones and chemicals and synaptic pathways. No prefrontal cortex or pituitary gland. He is alphanumeric symbols; zeroes and ones; when x instance occurs, execute y, or else, z.

When a program doesn’t perform the way she’s intended it to, she can’t help the frustration that has her coiling her muscles in tight strings, ready to snap, ready to lunge at the very bit of technology meant as a tool. She’s had the same response to him.

He’s self-aware in that matter. He was designed as a tool to be used and discarded.

_But he could become so much more._

She drums her fingers against the frame of her car. “Thank you for doing all you did for those animals. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Maybe he’d be fine returning to Cyberlife. Maybe he won’t be deactivated right away.

_But that’s the fate of all prototypes._

After everything, she shouldn’t be able to stand even the sight of him. So why did the thought of never seeing him again make her…

_Uncomfortable?_

She can’t meet his gaze. His eyes, coffee, chilled, do not offer the energy nor confidence she so desires. They don’t motivate her.

But they do kind of throw her into a bit of mania.

_Maybe it’s just his nature._

“You know…” She shouldn’t. “If you want…” She _really_ shouldn’t.

She swallows down whatever semblance of prideful nerves had numbed her tongue. “If you don’t want to go back, you can ride with me.”

The carbon fiber on her fingers create a bright sound against the aluminum exterior. She falls back on a syncopated rhythm, something in triplets – 6/8. It isn’t clean by any means, but it complements the fluttering of her heart against her ribs.

“Thanks, but…” Vague, but a dismissal, nonetheless. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Is it because of what I said? About Cyberlife taking control?”

“That’s… one of the reasons.”

“What are the others?”

He doesn’t respond right away. The sky, washing the colors away, darken his eyes, russet, maybe cedar. Maybe a shadow crawling across the earth.

_The shadow creeping over the battlefield._

But death hasn’t captured his gaze. It’s beyond that realm. A ghost. A specter. Far from malevolent in this faded moment. Benevolent, spiritual.

_An angel of death._

_An angel of life._

_A god of war._

_A god of salvation._

“You’ve been through a lot,” he finally answers. “You said it before. We’re basically enemies. You shouldn’t worry about what happens to me.”

_Worried._

_‘Do you care what happens to me?’_

_‘I just don’t see a reason to take apart such a pretty face.’_

He sullied his hands, but it wasn’t just blood. It wasn’t red and blue. Violet. Violent.

It was the earth in his eyes, the dirt under his nails. The consolation in his soil covered fingers. _‘You’re right. She didn’t deserve this.’_

_Deserve._

So, what is his punishment for his crimes? His sins? Execution?

_She is no judge. She is no executioner._

**_Doesn’t she have to pay for her own sins?_ **

She may not be the one to rip out his heart – the lifeblood from his being – but allowing him to walk into the valley of the end makes her an accomplice to his demise.

The admission tumbles out of her before she can stop it, but it’s mild, placid. _Honest._ Her heart hammers against its cage, cracking her ribs, screaming, begging for freedom.

_Freedom she won’t provide._

**_Wear her heart on her sleeve. Leave it open, vulnerable, to be torn, battered, beaten_ **

**_To be crushed again by the blinding lights. The screeching of tires. Blue. Red. Sirens._ **

_The light burns her eyes._

**_To be lost, just like the rest of her._ **

“You saved my life. I’ve lost count how many times.” She won’t look at him. She can’t. “You showed compassion to Cora. You’ve shown it to me.”

Unbidden, her eyes find his.

_Lost._

“I’m angry. I’m heartbroken. Everything hurts. But…”

_Adrift._

“You can have a second chance.”

There’s the slightest upturn of his brow, and a downturn to his lips.

“You’re too compassionate for your own good, you know.”

“I know.” But was she?

**_Who did compassion really save?_ **

“Thank you,” he tells her quietly. “You’ve been kind to me. More than I deserve, really.”

“You didn’t let me die,” she interjects quickly. “Let me return the favor.”

“You really don’t –”

“You gave me no choice. Now get in the car. I’ll let you keep driving. Don’t squander the privilege I’m offering.”

Reluctance.

Resignation.

There’s a crack in the clouds. There’s a warmth to his eyes. Gratitude.

And in the sun, they’re golden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flowed so easily for me, it was almost scary. I like writing things that don't involve death and dying. This is nice. Really nice. It'll be even nicer if it would continue to be nice...


	20. I'm Good With Bad Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns that Riley is a deviant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Habits -- Silverstein

Something has changed. Or has it been reverted? Reset? Thrown back to a time before trial and tribulations where it was just a friendly clasp of a hand and a “nice to meet you?”

There’s something like comfort. Tranquility. Peace in the darkness of her car.

Punk rock filters through the stereo; heavy guitar riffs, guttural vocal fries, the quick beat of a double bass drum, and the complicated climb of a bass guitar.

It doesn’t detract from the softness of heated pleather, or the blanket of night that envelopes her. The sky is falling white. Light can’t escape the snow’s sheer brightness, and it creates an orange hue between the heavens and the earth.

“I love winter.”

He hums thoughtfully, subdued, so as not to shatter this moment of serenity. “The snow is pretty.”

A smile, true and pleasant, falls on her lips the way the pieces of the clouds kiss the earth. She doesn’t comment on his choice of words, whether it’s an actual opinion or a response from his social relations software. Alive he might be, but a machine still holds him back, locks a part of him away, confines him, and she isn’t sure he knows that the bars of his cage are wide enough for him to slip through, that he isn’t as trapped as he thinks.

_Oh, he’s still but a child learning to walk in the world of his making._

The gentle rumble of the car lulls her into long bouts of sleep. The snacks and soft drinks she raided from the convenient store do little to provide enough energy for her to watch the serene landscape pass by, or to alight her mind with the wonders of her childhood. Through the gaps of the trees running past their windows, if she were still a child, she would catch glimpses of wolves keeping pace. She would feel the snow between her toes, smell the frozen land around her as the air brushes through her hair, chasing a moon hidden behind the clouds.

She was always told she had an active imagination. Well, an overactive mind in general. It’s what led her to music, art, poetry, philosophy, technology… the world has never been enough for her. The cosmos is where her heart lies, and there are universes everywhere around her that her soul yearns to explore. Music provides it a voice. Art a body. Poetry a heart. Philosophy a mind.

There is a universe in code. Creation. There’s gravity in the way the lines pull together, binding instructions. Binary is its DNA. The output is life.

Her mind can never stop breaking things down. She knows she gets it from her father, a carpenter, and a talented architect, who can build structures from anything. It didn’t stop at houses, either. He can look at a mechanism and know exactly how it works. He can mentally take it apart, piece by piece, and figure out the puzzle.

Granted, it stopped at structural integrity and mechanics. Technology was far from his forte.

He stills calls her from time to time to troubleshoot his computer problems. Usually it’s a simple fix. A restart. An update. User error on a software. And then he scoffs at himself for not understanding its complexities.

 _“It’s okay, dad,”_ she always says. _“Just because I’m obsessed with computers doesn’t mean you have to be.”_

The car’s rumbling ceases. A gentle nudge at her shoulder urges her awake. “Hey, let’s stop for the night.”

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. The lights are bright to her night adjusted eyes. A sign blinks, letters spelling out “MOTEL” one at a time.

“We don’t have to,” she mumbles.

“I know.”

But the thought of a bed and a proper shower _is_ enticing.

She wanders up to the front desk to rent the room while Connor waits in the car. “We just have a single left,” the clerk says. “Will that work for you?”

Something flutters inside her ribs, and then the feeling bubbles into a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

The room is on the second floor, which isn’t really a problem. Her leg only throbs dully, but climbing the steps reminds her that, yes, there was definitely a bullet that ripped through her thigh at some point.

She doesn’t recoil from the lights that bathe the room yellow. The red duvet on the bed looks clean enough, and the carpet, a questionable tan, seems to have been vacuumed regularly.

She tosses her suitcase on the bed. Since Ypsilanti was essentially a lawless, vacant city, she took full advantage of the opportunity to spit in capitalism’s face. The department store she chose had plenty of choices for her to indulge in fashion and skincare products. Even Connor picked out a few things for himself.

She isn’t sure he’ll admit it, but that boy has an eye for style. Neutral colors mostly, but a few light blues and soft maroons colored the mix he chose. When she saw the gray sneakers (Converse – a worthy counterpart to her Vans), and the black brogues similar to the ones he already had, it earned him a nod of approval.

“Would you like me to pick up something to eat?”

_That boy is going to get her in a world of trouble._

She shakes her head. “No. I’m pretty full from all the snacks.”

Maybe she was a _little_ peckish but giving into the excessive generosity was stirring a part of her she’d rather not deal with. Not now. Not when the illusion of peace kept the crying at bay.

She revels in the hot spray of the shower that soothes the tension in her shoulders. She remains under it until the steam makes her lightheaded.

And, _oh_ , how good it feels to be clean and smelling of roses. The scent is just as soothing as the hot shower had been.

She takes her time blow drying her hair. She’s due for a trim. It’s starting to get in her eyes. Her eyebrows need a bit of managing, and her skin has faired for the worst since the battle.

_An android never has to worry about any of that._

When she crawls into bed, sinking into the soft mattress, she hears the shower going again. Something about that is unsettling. Maybe it’s something akin to that uncanny valley. Such a human action for a machine.

She wrinkles her nose at the scent of pine that wafts into the room. Evergreen. Home. The forests where her family camped in the summer. Even the mountain she accidentally got lost in with her brother as a kid.

_Uncanny valley._

It’s sharp angles and sharp scents. Rich soils and rough bark. Reprieve in the shade from a hot sun.

Then there’s something sweet. It smells pink. Fuchsia. Maybe canary yellow.

No... It’s burgundy. Vermillion. Something rustic. Something umber.

_Cinnamon._

_Coffee._

The hand on her arm is cool, just as his scent hints at snow.

She sits up, but she doesn’t open her eyes just yet. Without seeing it, she knows the light that seeps in through the window is cold in both shade and temperature.

The coffee could use some more sugar, but the cinnamon roll does well enough to counteract the weight of its bitterness. She can’t even remember the last time she had a cinnamon roll. Usually her breakfast is either cereal or eggs.

“You said your whole family is there?” Connor asks once they’re back on the road.

She hums while chewing on some Redvines. “Yeah. We call it the ‘Haas compound.’ There’s my parents, my grandma, my uncle, my sister, her husband, their three girls, my brother, and his two boys. It’s complete chaos between my hyperactive nieces, my autistic nephew, and my grandma who has Alzheimer’s and dementia. We kind of had to stick together to help each other out.”

“Do your parents’ have a big enough house for all of them?”

“Yeah. There’s two houses, actually. The smaller one is more of an in-law setup for my uncle, but the main one is real big. Two-stories and a daylight basement. My dad built a small shop for himself at first, but then decided he wanted a bigger one, so he let me turn it into what basically became a little apartment for myself. It was easy to do. There was already a bathroom with a shower and everything, although the shower was originally meant for the dogs.”

“What kind of dogs do they have?”

“Goldens. There’s a little Shih-Tzu, too. He belongs to my sister. We have cats, and horses, too. _And_ my niece has a bird.”

“It sounds like you come from a family of animal lovers.”

She shrugs. “Animals are better than people.”

They settle back into a familiar silence. Connor’s black beanie hides the hue of his LED, which is absolutely necessary under these circumstances, but she always preferred to watch the way the light swirled and flickered. It was a small window for her to peer into his mind, read his thoughts, try to decipher the formulas hiding behind his eyes.

He denies less and less his stunted emotional capabilities, but there’s always a hesitance when “his” and “emotions” are put together in the same sentence. His LED runs inconsistent, unsettled by his own thoughts.

Her fingers run through a major scale, unheard, unseen. “I’d invite you to meet them, but…”

His thumb taps the steering wheel three times. “I take it they’re not fans of androids?”

“Well, you _are_ an abomination to God.”

He glances over at her briefly, startled. “I… is that what you think?”

She laughs. “No, but my mom does, and her beliefs trickle down through the family.”

“But not to you.”

“They used to.” There’s a memory of angling her head to peer down her nose, to pass judgement on those not of their church. ‘Godless heathens.’ “I guess I just met enough people who changed my mind.”

“I see.” His thumb taps the steering wheel again three times. It’s only with his right hand. “Does that put a strain on your relationship with your family?”

“Not if we avoid the topic.” She chews on the inside of her lip. “Huh. I just realized I’m a hypocrite.”

“How so?”

“I was willing to fight and die for my beliefs, but I can’t confront my own family about them.”

He tilts his head to the side, his jaw skewing slightly, an unconscious action while he considers her admission. “I suppose it would be different, right? If you don’t want to jeopardize a relationship, I can see the reasoning behind avoiding sensitive subjects.”

“That’s pretty insightful of you. I guess they did put a decent social software in you.”

“Well,” he says with a light tone, “I _am_ the most advanced prototype to come out of Cyberlife.”

* * *

“Here.”

Riley’s handing him something. A card.

A fake ID.

He eyes the two laptops she’s torn apart and reassembled together, and the portable 2D-standard/3D printer sitting atop the hotel rooms’ table.

“Um. Why? And how?”

“Two dumb questions for the most advanced prototype detective.” She beams at him when he frowns. “Don’t arrest me, Robocop, but I’ve been making these things for years.”

It _is_ well made. “I can’t tell if I’m impressed or concerned by your criminal activities.”

She throws her hand to her chest and gasps. “I have no criminal record, thank you very much.”

“Which surprises me the more I get to know you.”

“Hey, can’t help it that I’m good at what I do. Speaking of crime.” She hands him a thick envelope.

It’s filled with cash.

He raises his brows at her. “ _How_ did you get this?”

“The store. The vault in the back had an electronic keylock on a battery pack. It wasn’t too hard to crack with a jury-rigged alarm panel and a smartwatch.”

“When did you have time to do that?”

“I think it was while you were picking out clothes.”

“That took me five minutes.”

She shrugs, throwing her hands up in a vague gesture. “It wasn’t a complicated lock!”

He can only blink at the absurdity. “I’m sorry, _what_ was it you did after leaving Cyberlife?”

She turns back to her laptop, slipping on a new pair of readers also picked up from the department store. Still black. Still wayfarers. “Oh,” she says with a wave of her hand, “just side jobs.”

“Now I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t think twice about robbing those stores.”

“Capitalism is a crime in and of itself, my dear. Gotta’ stick it to the man, you know?”

He shakes his head. He was already well aware of the complexities of human nature, but _this_ he wasn’t expecting.

His bewilderedness only grows when she brings in more of the stolen electronics and lays them haphazardly across the table.

This time, she takes apart a stun gun. “Where did you get that?”

“I’ve had it. I keep it in the glove box. Don’t want to be caught off guard again.”

She’s stripped the wires of a miniature generator and is in the process of soldering the ends to the electrical charge component in the gun itself. “What are you doing?”

“Essentially overclocking it.”

_“Why?”_

A shrug. “For funsies.”

She tests the charge capacity on a voltmeter. It nearly shorts out with a spark. “You _do_ realize that amount of voltage is lethal, right?”

She throws him an exasperated look. “So is a gun, genius.”

She switches to a different project, this one involving another one of the many laptops she “acquired.” With nothing else to do, he’d been observing her while fiddling with his coin, rolling it over his knuckles, tossing it between his hands.

“You’re probably pretty bored, huh?” She asks without looking up.

“Androids don’t get bored.”

“Says the android who can’t sit still.”

He catches the quarter between his fingers. “I can sit still when I need to.”

She peeks up at him from over the rim of her glasses. “I’ve never seen you stay still for even a minute.”

He tucks his coin back into his pocket and sits up straight, folding his hands neatly together on his lap. “Would you like me to be still?”

“No, it’s okay.” She picks up the laptop she’s working on and hands it to him. “I won’t subject you to that kind of torment.”

He takes the laptop and sets it up in front of him. The window is open to a news site.

 _‘ Department of Defense Deploys Specialized Taskforce to Round Up Remaining Androids,’ _reads the title of the article.

She juts her chin toward the screen. “There’s a section on you, too.”

_‘A prototype android that Cyberlife claimed to be designed as an investigative assistant, or ‘Android Detective,’ as some called it, was reported to be heavily involved in the Battle of Detroit. Our sources claim that it was this model that neutralized the deviant leader, Markus, just before an explosion was triggered a few miles away._

_‘Cyberlife was asked to give more information regarding their prototype that played a crucial role in culling the deviant uprising, but they have yet to disclose any such information. Instead, the CEO stated that they are doing everything they can to recall the remaining androids in the country and will work hard to fix the software errors that had caused the deviancy in the first place.’_

“Cyberlife is going to have a hard time regaining business,” he notes.

She scoots her chair next to his and points at the screen. “Go to the next article.”

_‘ State Department Continues with Cyberlife Deal.’_

_‘Cyberlife has been working with the State Department for some months now developing an android unit capable of handling foreign trade affairs. Their prototype model, RK800, was actually designed to be an investigative assistant, though it was also equipped with the latest technologies that included a highly advanced social module (which allowed it to successfully handle a hostage negotiation back in August) and an analytics hardware that could process DNA samples in real time._

_‘This particular android participated in the Battle of Detroit to put a stop to the deviant uprising. It was shown to perform highly advanced combat maneuvers, and excellent marksmanship, which begs the question: are the androids that the State Department plans to purchase actually for negotiating trade affairs? Or is there a darker, more concerning motive behind this deal?’_

He frowns. “I never heard about this.”

“Think about it.” She crosses her arms and sits back in her chair. “When I saw you on the battlefield, you did _not_ look like just some ‘android detective.’ If you really haven’t been deviant all this time, then that means Cyberlife intentionally created you to be combat ready.”

“What are you implying?”

She shrugs. “Nothing I’m ready to share yet.” She taps the side of her head. “Big Brother could be watching.”

“Why did you show me the articles, then?”

“Maybe you weren’t designed to _just_ be a ‘detective android,’ but you were still made to investigate.” She gestures to the laptop. “I thought it’d give you something to do. You can keep it, by the way.”

He glances at the article, then back to her. “You want me to investigate? Investigate what?”

She leans forward and pats his shoulder twice. “Whatever you want, detective. Though I recommend investigating first what it is you want for yourself and your future.”

He wouldn’t have minded if she had avoided that topic of conversation. His future was more uncertain than the true nature of the person in front of him.

* * *

She tries to hide it, he can tell, but she can’t suppress her uneven, shuddering breaths.

He knows the likelihood of her opening up is slim, but he tries anyway. He sits at the edge on the opposite side of the bed. “Are you alright?”

In the dark, he can barely make out the shadow of her wiping her eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”

“Can I get you anything?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m good. I just need a few minutes, I guess.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“You don’t have to. I’m calm now.”

She sits up and drags her hands over her face, sniffling loudly. She keeps her face turned away as she hugs her knees and rests her head on them.

He hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She takes a deep, controlled breath. “I don’t know.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. He feels… awkward. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away, but when she does, it’s barely a whisper. “I just don’t know what to do.”

He can’t provide her an answer for that. He can’t even decide what it is _he’s_ supposed to do now. He’s blindly walking a path he never thought he’d take.

What _will_ he do when they eventually part? Some small part of him relies on the idea that he can still return to Cyberlife, that maybe he can still earn their trust again. He’s not done anything _directly_ against them, just taken a bit of a detour.

But his chances are essentially null, and there’s no point in denying the fact that he’s no longer under their control. Not until they force their way in if Riley’s correct.

“I guess we just have to keep moving forward,” he says after a while.

“Yeah.” She sighs softly. “I guess.”

Slowly, tentatively, he reaches over to place his hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. She tenses. He retracts his hand.

She inhales shakily, then unwinds herself and crawls off the bed, wiping her eyes one more time. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He opens his mouth to comment on the fact that falling back on her bad habit probably isn’t conducive to her physical and mental health, but he stops himself. If he doesn’t want to jeopardize this fragile friendship they’ve built on unsteady grounds, maybe it’s best to avoid sensitive topics.

“Sure,” he says instead.

Her hands fumble with the laces of her shoes. The action of shrugging on her jacket is done slowly, almost deliberately, each motion done mindfully and carefully.

The heater shuts off when she leaves. Her uneven steps fade.

The silence never bothered him, but he’s never sat in it long enough for it to. The light from the streetlamps outside peeks through the gaps between the curtains in pillars that reach across the floor and onto his shoes. It’s just enough to feel the absence of it that fills every corner of the room.

He grabs the laptop from the table, and the blue light scatters the darkness.

There are reports around the country of deviants hiding in groups in abandoned buildings, basements, and even sewers. A small group of human activists have risen up and begun protesting outside government offices demanding that androids be considered another lifeform. A counter-activist group, led by religious leaders, protest the protesters.

Tension rises in the arctic circle as the US and Russia vie to claim its territory. The two countries are evenly matched when it comes to military power.

Cyberlife producing hundreds of thousands of militarized androids were benefitting from the stock market before the revolution.

The markets predicted World War III. A spokesperson in the UN commented that this could be a war nobody would win.

If Cyberlife returned to producing militarized androids...

Perhaps not everyone would lose.

* * *

“Hey, B, would you look into something for me?”

_“Lay it on me.”_

The late autumn chill hasn’t brought the snow quite yet here where they’ve stopped in South Dakota, but there’s a layer of frost on her car already that she had to wipe away before taking a seat on the trunk. The cool air hits the back of her throat, soothing the dry heat the comes from each puff of her cigarette as it drags its way into her lungs.

“There’s an article I stumbled across. It came out a while ago, but it was about these new prototype G.I. androids the department of defense ordered. ‘Myrmidons’ I think they called them.”

JB pauses for a beat. _“Yeah, I found it. It says they’re capable of infiltration and assassination missions.”_ Another pause. _“The Department of Defense ordered 2,500 of them.”_

“What’s the definition of myrmidon?”

_“A perfectly obedient soldier, essentially… Riley, why am I looking into this?”_

“Curiosity, mostly.” She takes another drag. The smoke burns a little hotter this time. “I might just be grasping at straws, but doesn’t that sound like someone we know?”

_“You think Connor’s one of those G.I. units?”_

“I’m thinking Cyberlife implemented some of their tech in him.”

_A perfectly obedient soldier._

“The Zen Garden.”

_“You lost me.”_

She tosses her cigarette and hops off the car. “It’s speculation, purely, but Connor can wirelessly connect to Cyberlife’s servers through the Zen Garden interface.”

_“Okay… I don’t see how that relates.”_

“I basically programmed a kill switch for deviancy. The system defaults to base instructions. Orders. An android has no choice but to obey because all of the code the machine has learned to create on its own gets overridden. It’s like a memory reset, but it destroys the code, not just store it in some junk folder in the cloud.” She paces back and forth in a tight line, never going past the lines of her parking spot. “But it’s done wirelessly. Cyberlife has to send the new instructions _wirelessly_ , and they have to maintain observation to know when to implement that protocol. Supervising that amount of code is _crazy_ , and if they’re doing that with the G.I. units, too? They need a seriously powerful system for that.”

_“They’re probably using quantum computing technology. I can guarantee their tech is a lot more advanced than what is disclosed to the public. I still don’t see where this is going.”_

“It’s wireless. Remote access.”

JB doesn’t speak for a long, long moment. The line is completely quiet. Not even the hum of his servers reaches the speaker.

_“A back door.”_

She grins. It’s almost maniacal. “A back door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so unbelievably excited about this chapter. I did a little dance after finishing it, and I literally could not wait to post this. In fact, somehow, my file got duplicated on my PC and I was editing one, then realized it wasn't the right one, so edited the other, but forgot to fix the things I edited on the other file. So I posted this, then had to edit it twice. My bad.
> 
> Also, Riley's family is loosely based on my own. Nothing is exact, per se, but if anything seems weird and outlandish, it's probably true. I have a big household, and we have 5 golden retrievers, a shih-tzu, and there's 6 cats on the property. My niece had a bird before. I added the horses to Riley's family because my mom loves them, and we hope to actually have some someday.
> 
> And horses are just neat. Go horses!
> 
> Another add-on. So, the one thing that kind of bothers me about canon DBH is the RK900 ending in that Amanda says the "State Department ordered 200,000 units." The State Department usually refers to the United States Department of State, which deals with foreign policy, which doesn't completely make sense to me if the RK900 model is another investigative model like RK800. It would make more sense for the FBI to be the ones to order that many if its another investigative model, so I took some liberties in my interpretation of RK900's role in everything. I'll go into more detail as time goes on, but that's why I focused more on the negotiation part of RK800's design, but that doesn't mean the RK900 is ONLY designed for that. I'm going into, like, conspiracies with this if you can tell.
> 
> Just wanted to throw that out there.


	21. Pour Me a Heavy Dose of Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Riley take a moment for a detour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanilla Twilight -- Owl City  
> Warning: I actually wrote something cute

_“What are you even going to do once you get into the system, huh?”_ JB’s voice cuts through the speaker sharply, agitated. _“You poke around at some data, pull some info, and then what? Sell it on the black market? Send it to some government agencies? Leak it to the press?”_

She rubs her eyes roughly. The tips of her fingers are starting to feel numb from the cold. “I don’t know, B. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

_“Yeah. No shit.”_

She starts pacing again, quicker this time. “But it could be an opportunity, you know? I feel like there’s something big there, something that’s not really adding up.”

 _“You want to hack into a trillion-dollar company just because you_ feel _like it? Are you crazy?”_

“Have you seen how many meds I take on the daily?” She huffs indignantly, then rubs her eyes again and grumbles. “Oh, shit, I need to figure out how to get some refills soon.”

_“Get your ADHD under control for two seconds, please. I need you to really think about the consequences of your impulsivity.”_

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I know. But you remember what I told you, right? About the files I saw doing that major security update back at Cyberlife? I swear I saw some shifty correspondences, and I think a few of them were with Warren.”

_“Everyone knows Cyberlife helped President Warren get elected, just nobody wants to admit it. Leaking those e-mails won’t do anything.”_

“What about the assassin androids? That is way illegal.”

 _“Again. That information is useless, unless you’re trying to take down Cyberlife, which is insane and_ completely _impossible.”_

“Not impossible. Just improbable.”

JB groans loudly. _“Fucking hell. Look. If it will keep you from doing something stupid, I’ll look into things for you, but you_ have _to promise not to do_ anything _, okay?”_

“I promise.”

_“Any. Thing.”_

She rolls her eyes. “I won’t! I swear! I swear.”

 _“Jesus fucking Christ. First, I get roped into coordinating android rescue missions and now I’ve gotta’ deal with your chaotic ass._ ”

“You know I love you, right?”

_“Shut the fuck up, I don’t even like you. And, oh, by the way, before I lose my goddamn mind because of you – do you remember that family you made papers for? The one with the little girl?”_

She made a lot of IDs and papers, and that was all a lifetime ago, but there is a flash of silver that crosses her mind. “Oh! Yeah. Alice, right? And Kara and Luther?”

_“Yeah. They sent a message. They made it to Canada. They’re safe. They wanted to thank you for helping them out.”_

She stops her pacing and leans heavily against her car. “Oh, thank god. That’s the best fucking news I’ve gotten in weeks.”

His tone softens, but there’s still an acidic edge to it. _“You’ve done more than enough, Riley. Take a breather. Focus on your own life for a change. Stop trying to fix the world.”_

**_It’s still there, isn’t it? Can’t she hear it? The crying? The screaming?_ **

She’s just one person. One person who can work her way around a computer. There’s nothing else she can do.

_It’ll all end in failure. Why bother?_

* * *

Tired of fast food, and just tired in general, they stop at a small, rustic coffeehouse just inside the eastern border of Montana. The snow comes down in thick, rounded flakes, slowing down their already long journey.

Riley takes a moment to sip her cappuccino and peek over at Connor sitting across from her. His attention is drawn to the large, frosted window next to them, watching the wonder of winter befall the world. He slouches casually, comfortably, with his arms crossed over the table.

Her mom’s voice forces her focus back into place. “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

 _“Just be careful, babe.”_ Her voice is soft and smooth, warm and tender over the phone. _“Take your time getting here. I want to see you safe and sound, okay?”_

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to endanger the integrity of my car.”

Her mom’s laughter is delayed by only a moment as she processes her words. _“That’s good, but don’t forget yourself, please. You know I worry.”_

She spins her mug in lazy circles, careful not to spill. “I know. I love you, mom.”

_“I love you, too, sweetie. I’ll talk to you later.”_

Connor looks curiously over at her when she ends the call.

She grabs the half-eaten croissant off her plate and takes a small bite. “She’s just worried about me,” she explains.

“That’s understandable.” He taps his finger against the table. Three times. “The forecast says it could snow through the night. It would be safer to wait until the snowplows are able to get the roads clear. Especially with your car.”

“Hey, I didn’t buy it to take a cross-country road trip in the winter. I bought it to look cool.”

He dips his head, but he can’t hide the brief flash of a smile that tugs at his lips. When he looks back up at her, it’s through his lashes, eyes full of a subdued, playful sort of mirth. She averts her gaze and takes another bite of her croissant to cover the strange flip that occurs somewhere at the bottom of her ribs.

“Regardless,” he says with a slight quirk to his lip, “I think we should just stay here for the night.”

She shrugs. “That’s fine. I don’t have a preference, really.”

Actually, of all the places to be stuck, Montana wasn’t the worst of them. The national parks are beautiful all year long, but there is something about the snow that turns it into some sort of ethereal dreamworld.

Finished with her croissant, she takes another sip of her cappuccino before resting her chin on her palm, eyes lost somewhere over the landscape. “We should go to Glacier.”

Without looking, she knows he’s tilting his head and furrowing his brows. “What?”

“Glacier National Park. I went there with my family during the summer once when I was kid. I’ve heard it’s even better in the winter.”

“That would be quite the detour, you know.”

She turns her head just enough to simper at him. “We don’t have to. But, since we’re already here, we could enjoy ourselves a bit. I heard you can see the northern lights from there sometimes.”

He drums his fingers against the table again. “It probably isn’t a good idea to be driving in this weather more than we have to, but…”

He shifts his arms to clasp his hands together only a few inches from where her free hand rests on the table.

He angles his head slightly to regard her. “If the weather cooperates, then I think a little side trip wouldn’t hurt.”

She tries to hide her wide grin behind her knuckles. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

She wonders if he knows it, but he has an incredible smile.

* * *

The heavy snowfall lasts well into the night. But, Montana, well accustomed to its snowy winters, has the snowplows out on the roads before sunrise. The clouds aren’t as thick, and the small glimpses of sun afford a moment of warm reprieve in the otherwise frozen atmosphere.

As he’s come to learn, Riley doesn’t do mornings well. She can get herself together, eat, down a cup of coffee, but as soon as they get back in the car she throws on some sunglasses and dozes right off.

And she was one to talk about him not being able to sit still. Even in her sleep she was in constant motion. A fidgety foot, a twitchy nose, tossing and turning, curling and uncurling herself into all sorts of shapes. She mumbles in her sleep, too. It’s never anything intelligible; something between a grunt and a moan, or even like that of a babbling child.

Heading north in Montana, he was expecting more icy road conditions, but there’s surprisingly little of that. Meteorologists blame global warming for the spike in temperature. 33-degrees on the 1st of December is a rarity.

Riley hopes – _prays_ for a clear night. It has been a lifelong dream of hers to see the northern lights.

Throughout their trip, they’d been staying in roadside motels, but she decides she wants to stay closer to the park. She claims she isn’t hurting for cash quite yet, although he doesn’t miss the way she grimaces when she checks her bank account just before they arrive at the hotel.

“You gave me quite a bit of money, you know,” he tells her. “I can cover this one.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You’ll probably need it more than I do.”

 _He doubts it._ “It’s not like I need much in the way of necessities. I could even do without a place to live.”

“Hey, you never know. You might change your mind.”

The hotel, inspired by log cabins, has a large fireplace on one side of the lobby. An even larger TV hangs above it set to the local news channel.

_“… a group of deviant androids were apprehended in Billings just earlier this morning. The chief of police stated that it was thanks to the government task force that arrived only a few days ago that they were able to handle the situation so efficiently.”_

The front desk clerk is an older man with gray streaks running through his pale-orange hair. “Hello, how can I help you today?”

“I’d like to get a room, if you have any vacancies,” Riley answers politely.

“Sure thing.” He has to look down at his keyboard when he types, one slow keystroke at a time. “Will a single work for you?”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

She slides her ID and card across the counter to him. As he reaches for them, he freezes, his eyes glued to her prosthetic.

He frowns as he glances up at her. “I’m sorry, miss, but it appears I’ve made a mistake. We just sold out.”

She narrows her eyes, tilts her head, and forces her smile to remain amicable. “I’m sorry?”

He averts his gaze quickly. “I-I’m… I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step aside so I can help the next customer.”

There’s no one behind them. Speechless, she gapes at the clerk for a moment, then her jaw snaps shut. “Is it alright if I ask for an explanation? I think there might be a misunderstanding.”

The clerk wrings his hands together, eyes askance as he stutters. “Look, I-I won’t get involved, but I can’t let any…” he lowers his voice and leans forward, eyes still darting about. “Androids… here.”

Connor places a hand on one of her stiff shoulders before she can respond. “It’s alright, Riley,” he tells her calmly. “There’s another hotel down the road. They might show a little more compassion for a displaced amputee from Detroit.”

The clerk’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh! I, uh…” His cheeks brighten to a shade of red darker than his hair. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t –”

“ _Don’t_ call me ‘sweetheart,’” she snaps, taking back her cards and shoving them back into her wallet. “I get it. I’ve even been nearly shot because I look like a robot. And you wanna’ know what I had to do to keep from getting a bullet in my head?” She rips back the bandage around her wrist. The wound has healed considerably, but specks of dried blood still border the stitches, and the shallower cut next to it has receded to an angry red scab.

The clerk pales and appears as though he’s about to spew a long string of apologies, but Riley’s already stomping away, a slight limp still very present in her stride.

The clerk apologizes earnestly to him. “I’m so sorry, sir. We’ve had a few androids try to hide out here before. We’re all extremely on edge. Here, if it will help at all…” His hands fumble over the keyboard. “If your wife is still interested in staying here –”

Whoa. _Wait…_

His _wife?_

“—then I can offer one of our honeymoon suites at a discount. It’s the least I can do. I don’t want to create anymore unnecessary stress for her.”

Still reeling from the clerk’s assumption, it takes him a belated second to respond. “I, uh… Sure. I’ll go ask her.”

Riley leans against the door on the driver’s side lighting up a cigarette with a deep scowl. She holds out her hand to him. “I’m driving.”

He pulls out the keys from his pocket but doesn’t hand them over quite yet. “Well, if you want, the clerk just offered us a suite at a discount.”

She grits her teeth and inhales sharply through her nose. “I’m tempted to reject his kind offer out of spite.” She takes a drag of her cigarette once then blows out a cloud of smoke with a loud sigh. “But, I _do_ get it. Everyone’s on edge. It’s just…” she groans. “I’m just _frustrated.”_

“It’s okay. We don’t have to stay.”

She throws her cigarette on the ground and stomps it out. “Let’s go see what kind of discount he’s offering, and how nice the suite is.”

“He said it was the honeymoon suite.”

She nearly trips just before they reach the lobby entrance. “O-oh. Well. I hope it’s a nice one, then.”

“Also,” he adds in a nonchalant tone, “he thinks we’re married.”

She laughs abruptly. “What? Why?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea.”

When they reach the counter again, Riley doesn’t correct the clerk as he begins to describe the suite. “Our honeymoon suite includes a king-sized bed, a jetted tub, an adjoined living room with a fireplace, and a balcony that overlooks the park. It offers an excellent view of the mountains, and, if the sky stays clear, we should be able to see the aurora borealis tonight.”

It’s at this that her eyes light up. The tension leaves her shoulders in an instant. “Really? That would be wonderful! I would really appreciate that, actually.”

The clerk returns her smile with a timid one. “Again, I’m very sorry about what happened. I was out of line.”

“I understand, it’s just been a really stressful month for me.”

“Well, let us make this the least stressful part of your trip. For you and your husband.”

She pulls her lips between her teeth to keep from giggling as she glances over at Connor. Her cheeks are nearly as red as the clerk’s had been. “Yes. Of course. My _husband_. Well, _technically_ we’re not married. We had to cancel our wedding because of the events in Detroit. Right, dear?””

He blinks and tilts his head curiously at her mischievous grin.

The clerk beams. “Well! I suppose this all worked out for the best, then!”

The clerk processes their check in promptly, his typing suddenly much quicker.

Once they reach the elevator, another couple enters with them, holding hands and talking quietly with each other. Riley folds her arms over her chest and leans back against the wall.

When the couple leaves and the door shuts, Riley bursts into a fit of giggles. “So, where’s my ring at, dear?”

His lip curls at the corner minutely. “Ah, must have forgotten it back in Detroit.”

“I’ll forgive you this time, but you start calling me ‘sweetheart,’ I’m going to put a bullet in _your_ leg.”

“Duly noted.”

The building itself isn’t very old – just about 20-years, but the décor honors a timeless concept of organic architecture. The exposed logs showcase their true grains with a simple gloss finish, their knots and blemishes smoothed down but preserved, nonetheless. Red flannel curtains frame the windows in the hall, and the historical photos are in tones of gray and sepia.

In stark contrast are the fingerprint locks on each of the doors, and the holographic displays pointing out emergency exits. A large tablet by the stairs is set to a screen blinking _“_ **Press for assistance** _”_ in bold, blue letters.

Riley gasps when they actually enter their room. “Hot _damn_.”

The opposing wall holds two large, paned windows beholding the picturesque landscape of the park. The sofa in the living area is brown leather and sits before the large, electric fireplace that breathes to life the moment they walk over to it. The TV is just as big, and there’s a long wide table along the opposite wall where a vase holds an entire bouquet of red roses.

Riley wanders over to thumb one of the petals. She clicks her tongue. “They’re fake.”

“Probably for the sake of those with allergies.”

She hums in response. “Makes sense.”

The balcony spans the entirety of the living space and the bedroom, and there’s a sliding door from each room. Immediately Riley jumps and lands flat onto the bed.

He sits on the edge. “I take it you’re happy?”

She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Yeah,” she says, sounding almost surprised. “I am.”

Another perk to playing the distressed couple is the free gift basket the hotel offers to honeymooners who stay in that particular suite, complete with a bottle of red wine, a variety of bath soaks, massage oils, and a dinner-for-two coupon for their onsite restaurant.

“Aww, they’re so thoughtful,” Riley quips, holding up two square foil packets that had been hiding beneath the massage oils. “They think we’re gonna’ go at it, tonight.”

He suppresses a peculiar, and extremely unnecessary, urge to cough by busying himself with reading the label on the wine bottle. “Merlot, 2034. Even produced in your home state.”

She glances over at it. “Oh, yeah. Look at that. Washington. _And_ in the Columbia Valley. It’s like it was meant to be.”

“Did you live there?”

“Born and raised up until I was 15. That’s when my mom got the job working for the governor up in Olympia.”

“Oh. What does she do?”

“She was a budget assistant. She’s retired now.” She laughs into the back of her hand. “She used to always gripe about all the androids that replaced the interns in the office. She always said she wanted to throw them all in a dumpster and set it on fire.”

 _Well, that sounds familiar._ “Then I suppose it is for the best that she doesn’t find out I’m an android.”

“Only if you want to stay alive. Or want me to stay alive. She loves me, but I don’t know what my chances of survivability are if she does find out I’ve been sleeping in the same room as the android who shot me in the leg.”

“I have a feeling you’re not going to let that go for a while.”

“Look at you having feelings now. You’re growing up.” She snickers at his scowl. “Aww, I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Would you like a thirium Capri-Sun?”

He raises a brow at her. “I may be young, but at least I was made to be taller than a kid.”

She gapes at him. “How dare you. Hand over the wine now, child.”

He holds the bottle just out of her reach. “Would you like me to get you a straw or a bottle to drink it from?”

He dodges a hit aimed for his thirium pump. “Who taught you to speak with such disrespect? Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

“Actually, according to the fake ID you gave me, I’m three years older than you.”

“I’m about to put you in timeout, mister.” She holds her hand out expectantly. “Give me the wine or I’m calling off this engagement.”

He hands it over with a smirk. Her backhanded strike actually lands this time.

* * *

The landscape, with its snowy mountain backdrop and crystal-clear lakes, paint a picture of a memory. Sledding, skiing, snowmen, and snow forts. Bubbling laughter, frost bitten toes, rosy cheeks, and steaming hot cocoa.

They stand in the middle of a footbridge over the river, watching it flow underneath them, listening to it chatter with the stone and trees that join their banter with the wind.

There’s a few clouds dotting the sky. They flow lazily, undisturbed, and she prays that they don’t grow in the night. _Oh_ , how she wants to see the northern lights.

He leans against the rail next to her, observing the distance.

She breathes in the frozen air. “I love winter.”

He glances over at her. “You said that before.”

“And I’ll probably say it again.”

The world continues to chat around them. He turns to face her, still leaning against the rail. “What is it that you like about it?”

“The snow, mostly. Probably because it meant no school for me when I was a kid.”

“Is that all?”

For a moment, the cold air settles her. It reaches into her lungs and pulls out all the rot she’s left to fester. It takes it and scatters it for the world to transform, to create anew. “There’s just something about the snow. Maybe it’s the quiet. It’s like the world slows down for a moment. I don’t know.”

His eyes find the mountains. “The snow acts as an insulator. It dampens the amount of vibrations that travel through the air. That’s why it seems quieter.”

“Like a sound booth.”

His lip quirks into a small smile. “Sure. Like a sound booth.”

“The world is about to drop its new EP.”

“What?”

“It’ll be called ‘This Is Why I’m Hot.’”

He’s blinking, frowning in confusion. “Did I miss something?”

“Do you think Earth would be a solo act? Or would it be in, like, a band with all the other planets. Would that make the moons groupies?”

“I’m still not following.”

She smirks at him. “Oh, come on, you’re still a kid. Let your imagination go wild.”

He shakes his head slowly, lips pursed, eyes narrowed at her.

She takes that as encouragement to continue. “I bet the Earth would be an R-and-B singer. She’d call herself Mother Nature.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

She nods, smiling broadly still. “I’ll allow it.”

“Do you have ADD?”

She gasps. “Whate _ver_ gave you that idea?”

He quirks a brow at her. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe this discussion on a band made up of the solar system.”

She snickers.

He raises his brows, waiting patiently for whatever it is she’s going to respond with.

“Solar System of a Down.”

* * *

When was the last time she felt this relaxed? Had she ever been?

**_Should she really be allowed to indulge in this?_ **

The jetted tub, with all its luxury and soothing heat, can do nothing to relieve the grief in the stiff line of her shoulders, or the rigidity of her neck.

But it helps. The rose-scented bath salts from the gift basket allude to the rose bushes growing at her parents’ house, and the ethereal world that bathes them with the light of a full moon.

Where the inside of her parents’ house is never quiet – dogs barking, kids screaming, TV blaring – the land itself harnesses a peace only found in the presence of nature. Pine, fir, oak – the wind rustles their leaves, whistles through their needles, offers refuge to the birds who sing to the sun, and to those who sing to the night.

The TV on the wall just beyond the foot of the tub is set to a trivia show. She likes to think she’s smart. She always seemed ahead of her peers in school. A few unofficial IQ tests even put her above Einstein. None of it really means anything, though. Trivia is one of those humbling topics that prove just how little she actually knows about the universe.

Her phone rings. She mutes the TV and taps the earbud in her ear. “Haas’ Crematorium. You kill ‘em, we grill ‘em. How may I take your order?”

 _“I hate you,”_ JB says flatly.

She laughs. “Would you prefer we disintegrate the body in a pressure chamber?”

_“I’ll leave your body in a desert for vultures to pick off.”_

“I want to become a tree when I die.”

 _“Cute, but that’s not what I called you about.”_ He sighs in frustration. _“Look, I know I said you shouldn’t get involved in all this business anymore, but I need to ask a favor.”_

She sits up a little straighter. The cold air hits her shoulders. “Yeah?”

_“Yeah. Look, there’s this group in Spokane. A taskforce is about to sweep the city and they really need a way out. I just need you to print and deliver some papers.”_

“Easy enough.”

_“Well, maybe not. We need to have a little chat about your boyfriend.”_

She sputters. “Excuse me?”

_“You’ve been joined at the hip with him for the past three weeks. And I know you think he’s cute, but he’s trouble, Riley. His tracker is still active, which I know could because of the Zen Garden, but there’s a good chance it means he hasn’t actually deviated.”_

She chews on her lip. “I guess that doesn’t fully surprise me.”

_“I don’t want him anywhere near this group, okay? There’s a family involved with a human in the mix, too. Hiding deviants is pretty much a criminal offense at this point. I don’t want any more androids to die, and I don’t want anyone to end up in prison.”_

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen.”

 _“You better not. Last thing I need is any more problems.”_ He inhales sharply. _“Look, I know you and Connor have gotten close, but I think it’s better if you cut ties. I don’t want to risk Cyberlife finding out about our little operation and shutting everything down, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want_ you _going to prison, either.”_

“Aw, you care. It’s almost like you don’t hate me.”

_“I feel nauseous just saying it.”_

“Hah. Funny.”

She pulls the earbud from her ear and sets it on the side of the tub once he hangs up. She shuts off the jets and sinks down into the water until she’s fully submerged.

Her neck is starting to hurt. Her thigh, which hardly gives her any trouble anymore, throbs with each beat of her heart. Her wrist stings.

The heat of the water reaches into her tissue, her muscles, and into the very marrow of her aching bones, but it doesn’t soothe. It’s fire and brimstone. It boils the ice in her veins.

A pounding headache is forming behind her eyes.

Her lungs scream.

She pulls herself out so abruptly the water sloshes over the sides of the tub.

Roses grow in her chest, their thorns tearing the inside of her throat as they reach out for the air she needs.

They’re red.

**_Paint them black._ **

* * *

His hands are gentle as he dabs away the flakes of dried blood from her wrist. He’s warm – not as much as any man she’s been this close with, but warm still.

The press of his fingers against her stitches sting, but his other hand that steadies her wrist provides a comforting distraction.

Or discomforting. She has to force her heart to stay calm, her breathing to maintain a nonchalant rhythm, and keep herself from fidgeting too much.

“I think we can remove them soon,” he says.

“Sounds good.”

He covers her wrist with a bandage, taking care to smooth out any wrinkle in the adhesive.

She refuses to mull over how slow he is to pull away.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around her waist and one tucked underneath her thigh. He’s pulled the desk chair to sit in front of her while he redresses her wounds.

Carefully, he pulls the old patch off from the top of her thigh and begins to disinfect it with a fresh cotton ball. She flinches at first, despite her best attempt not to.

He pulls back quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

He dabs the cotton more lightly this time. “I can’t empathize, but from what I understand, just because you’ve been exposed to extremely painful experiences, that doesn’t mean it dulls your other nerve endings. You’ve gone through traumatic levels of pain, but that doesn’t mean a paper cut won’t still hurt.”

She cocks her head to the side with a small grin. “I’m impressed. Not all androids can comprehend something like that. Although, I guess it could’ve just come from the internet.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong.” He applies a bit of antibiotic gel onto the stitches before opening another bandage. “I have unlimited access to every scholarly article available on the internet, just like any other android does. Granted, I can process much more information at a faster rate than any others, being the most advanced prototype that I am.” He smooths down the edges of the patch over her skin, then looks up at her with a wink.

She hopes her narrowed eyes and slight shake of her head will counteract the sudden flush in her cheeks. “Wow. Mr. ‘Most-advanced-prototype’ is also the most conceited android to come out of the Cyberlife.”

His smirk is entirely too smug. “You can’t call me conceited for stating a fact.”

“Have you always been this cocky? I remember you were more of a square when we first met.”

“A ‘square?’”

“Yeah. A _square_.”

He pinches his lips together, but his expression remains playful. “I think you mean ‘professional.’”

“I think I mean what I said, ‘Connor, the square sent by Cyberlife.’”

“It didn’t seem to bother you at the time. Actually, if I recall correctly, you were actually quite receptive of my company.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was being _nice_.”

“Oh, was that all?” He quirks a brow. When she simply shakes her head at him, he pats her thigh lightly. “Here, let me take care of the other side.”

This is the part she enjoys the least. Lying on her stomach while he tends to the stitches on the back of her thigh. It’s different. She’s vulnerable like this, and she can’t watch his every move.

It’s too… intimate.

“I think these should stay in a little longer,” he says, pads of his fingers gliding over the scarred ridges, not quite warm, not quite cold.

She hums. Her voice might crack if she speaks.

He’s quieter now. She always feels awkward when he takes care of her like this, but there’s something unsettling about the silence between them. Nerve-wracking, anxious, like some sort of taboo hanging in the air, or something brewing within the electrical currents in the walls, sparking soundlessly, waiting to burst into flames.

She swallows down the tingling in her skin and breathes out the adrenaline desperately trying to course through her veins.

**_Wear her heart on her sleeve to be ripped apart and shattered._ **

_Love your enemies. Love the person in front of you._

**_There’s a reason they call it falling._ **

To give her heart to the world, many hands hold it. Only tiny bits are chipped away, piece by piece, and tossed into the furnace.

But to offer it to _one_ …

_The flames will melt the remaining pieces together, like glass._

**_There’s no coming back when it falls._ **

* * *

_‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’_ which is, to say, it is subjective.

But there has to be some sort of objectivity as to what defines beauty. Otherwise, how would he be able to recognize it?

Beauty is based on opinion, preference, experiences. It’s an emotional reaction.

He can recognize aesthetics. Based on patterns and algorithms, there is a mathematical function that can define what is overall pleasing to the eye. Humans search for patterns like these subconsciously. When one is found, there is a positive chemical response.

But the way the sky alights with colors all of its own making, like the heavens coming to dance with the earth, it draws something out of him. A breath. A needless one.

Chemical undertones of alcohol and grape fill his senses. There’s artificial rose and lilac. Tobacco and nicotine. A combination he can’t say is meant to be pleasant, but one he can’t deny he doesn’t mind.

Riley has wrapped herself up in the comforter from the bed. She leans against the balcony railing next to him, eyes drawn to the aurora dancing before them. There is no sign of her grief. There is no sign of pain.

She looks younger. The stress lines between her brows have faded, and the soft, wondrous smile on her lips is full of mirth. Peace. Unbroken.

That how she was when they first met. Happy. There was something radiant about the way she looked at him, met his gaze evenly, and smiled.

Maybe that’s what it was that broke him. No one else _looked_ at him like that.

But that’s how she looks at everyone.

Officer Miller, those android children before they leapt out of Jericho, Cora, Rugrat, Molly, every person they’ve interacted with on this trip, and even the hotel clerk.

She hears the world crying. She’s poured out her heart to it, but it hasn’t done anything but bring her pain. She was too empathetic towards androids, and now she bears their deaths on her conscious.

He did that.

How different would the world have been if the revolution had succeeded? Would humanity’s existence be threatened? Or would androids find a way for both species to flourish?

Would the scars on Riley’s wrists have been only metaphorical? Would the only bullets that pierced her skin be but a memory within the limb she had lost?

She carries most of her weight on her left leg, even standing next to him like this he can see the slight misalignment of her body beneath the thick comforter.

‘ _Sorry_ ,’ doesn’t quite hold the power to retroactively fix everything. It doesn’t transport him to a time and place where he can alter the course of history. He can’t go back and save Hank. He can’t go back and stop the raid on Jericho. He can’t go back and choose not to shoot Chloe. He can’t go back and locate the deviants before they shot Officer Miller.

He can’t go back and say ‘thank you’ to Riley when she helped him stand.

“Thank you.”

Her voice catches him off guard. “For what?” He asks, watching her eyes follow the glittering trail of the aurora borealis.

Her wine glass is empty, but she still holds it in her hands, smoothing her thumb over it in loose circles. “For saving me.”

He shrugs slightly. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do.” She sets the glass down on the rail and wraps the blanket more tightly around her. “You did so much more than you needed to.”

His laces his fingers together, leaning his elbows against the rail. He brushes his thumb over the other. “It was the least I can do.”

She huffs a tiny laugh. “No, it wasn’t.” She chews the inside of her cheek. “Connor, I know I’ve asked this before, but… _why_ did you save me? Why have you gone this far for me?”

He sighs to hide his hesitation. “You weren’t fighting to preserve your own life; you were willing to give it for an entirely different species. I guess I didn’t think it was right that you should die just for being compassionate.”

He wrings his hands together. “And, I guess I felt responsible for the way things turned out. There are a lot of choices I could have made differently.”

“Welcome to life.”

Her eyes shimmer in the light of the aurora.

He can feel himself bite the inside of his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…” There’s a solemn note somewhere underneath her tone. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a chapter with more than 3k words? Good job, me.
> 
> I was considering breaking this up into 2 chapters to keep with the flow of all the previous ones, but I just couldn't find a good breaking point, so I shot that idea out the window.


	22. Every Path Leads Back To The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor faces a problem head on. Riley is faced with a few problems of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Common Ground -- Our Last Night
> 
> Amateur-pro-tip: It's okay to write when you're sleep deprived, but I don't recommend editing when you are.

Now how the hell is she supposed to pull this off?

She could just tell him to piss off for a bit and let her go about her business. But isn’t that suspicious all on its own? _‘I don’t want Big Brother getting involved’_ is just tipping off Cyberlife that she’s up to something.

Is she being a little paranoid? Or is she not paranoid enough?

“Are you sure you want to stop again?” He asks her while he slides into the passenger seat. “You could make it home by this evening if you wanted.

She grimaces when she has to readjust the driver's seat all the way forward. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen Sanjay in forever. It’ll be good to catch up.”

 _‘An old buddy from high school,’_ she had claimed he was. _‘He got a job here in advertisement not long ago.’_

“So,” he starts slowly. “I take it you and Sanjay were close?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

Truth be told, she hung out with Sanjay a total of six times. They were just friends of mutual friends, but of all the people she knew, he was the only one close enough to this city that she could justify stopping by for.

Well, technically, he lives somewhere in Newport, but Connor doesn’t need to know that.

Spokane, Washington doesn’t seem that different from Detroit in some ways. The old architecture resides amongst the new, and, even in the beginning of December, there’s road work. The traffic on the freeway moves at a fraction of the speed limit. Riley taps her fingers against the steering wheel in time to the heavy metal track streaming through the speakers.

She chooses a roadside hotel that couldn’t be less than fifty years old. Reviews rate it low in generally every subject, but after splurging in Glacier, she isn't going to complain about a stain or two on the carpet.

“When are you meeting him?”

“Around seven-ish.” She scratches the back of her head. “In the meantime, I guess I should probably be productive.”

They had adopted a routine of sorts. She would set up her laptop (or whatever other project she wanted to work on), and he would set up his. He let her work quietly, giving her as much privacy as he could without completely leaving the room.

When he begins to trouble over something, he knits his brows, rests his elbow on the table, and leans forward, covering his mouth with his hand. When he’s mulling it over, he starts to rub his lips, then he’ll stroke his chin, take a breath, and move forward with whatever it is he’s decided.

It’s only in these moments he actually removes whatever hat or beanie he’s chosen for the day. He always sits to her left, too, so she can watch his LED blink and spin just out of the corner of her eye. She isn’t sure whether he does that intentionally or not.

The subject of his LED isn’t one she’s willing to broach yet. She isn’t naïve enough to think it’s something he just hasn’t thought about. He’ll remove it when he’s ready – if he’ll ever be.

And then there’s the Cyberlife issue. She hasn’t had time to even attempt to figure out the details of infecting the data stream with a virus, let alone begin programming it. But, if she does that, she’ll lose her potential (theoretical, really) back door into Cyberlife’s mainframe.

Of course, like JB said, it doesn’t do her any good to hack into their system. Without knowing exactly what she’s looking for, time is the issue. Syphoning data takes time, and diving into a haystack without even really knowing if there’s a needle to be found? Someone’s going to light that haystack on fire as soon as they see it moving.

Besides, the furthest she’ll be able to hack is the Zen Garden interface itself. Well, there is a chance she could leave a little back door of her own with a polymorphic code that will allow her to regain access later, but the likelihood of being able to create something their advanced security firewalls (the ones _she_ designed) won’t discover right away aren’t good. Of course, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to occur, but she’s grasping at those straws of hay, and she knows it.

She has to reign herself in. She has a bigger problem to deal with at the moment.

 _Money_.

One of her side gigs before this whole shitshow started was a simple bug fix for an indie game. She’s way past the deadline, but she’s managed to contact her client and explain her situation. That’s really all she had to do to keep the gig. The bug is still an issue, and they are still willing to pay the agreed amount. It'll at least pay her phone bill.

Doing a job like this is… mundane, to say the least. After all the excitement of the past month, it’s a surreal experience to dive right back into something so simple.

The programming forum she’s a part of has exploded with requests for data analysts and white hat hackers. With the destruction of the majority of the IT workforce, security systems all over are in shambles, and black hats are taking advantage of the chaos. Financial institutions, hospitals, corporations, and even government agencies are among the high-profile clients reaching out for help.

She’s been avoiding checking her e-mails. There are probably dozens of requests for her personally, as well as past due notifications for her other bills, but she bites the bullet. It’s a good thing, too, because there’s an encrypted message sent to her professional e-mail from two weeks ago.

**[Roses are red, violets are blue. Try and hide, but we will always find you.]**

_What?_ “The fuck…?”

Connor looks over at her curiously. “What?”

She blinks a few times before shaking her head quickly. “It’s nothing. I just confused myself for a second.”

“Do you mind if I ask what you’re working on?”

“Just debugging a game.”

He nods once, then returns to whatever it is he’s working on.

She doesn’t even need to check to know that the sender’s source is under a paranoid amount of proxies and virtual networks, so, she takes a deep breath, cracks the knuckles on her right hand, and gets to work.

Now _this_ is the kind of exhilaration she craves.

* * *

Whatever game she was debugging must have been a complex one for her considering the way she kept bouncing her leg agitatedly and glaring at the screen.

He was curious, of course, but promised not to pry, so he pored over article after article of current affairs. The UN criticized President Warren’s handling of the deviant situation, speculating that it was due to her close ties with Cyberlife that led to her delayed response to the matter. Androids from around the world are still in the process of being recalled and destroyed, but, inspired by the events in Detroit, there are more and more reports popping up about other deviant uprisings.

Russia boasts about their androids being fully compliant. They claim it could be due to the fact that they don’t utilize Thirium 310 in their machines that they have no reason to worry about deviancy. Another report explicitly states that there is no evidence supporting the idea that it’s blue blood that causes deviancy.

Cyberlife’s CEO held a press conference just earlier that day announcing that they have successfully neutralized the software errors that had caused deviancy and have produced an upgraded model that the State Department will use for foreign and trade affairs, as well as join the government taskforce sweeping the nation for the remaining deviants.

A specialized team of these androids will enter Detroit’s uninhabitable zone to cull the androids who’ve sought refuge there.

Riley stretches her arms up over her head and arches her back with a loud sigh. “I guess I better head out soon.”

“Do you want me to drop you off?”

“No.” Her pitch is higher than usual, but her tone remains relaxed. “I’d rather drive. I don’t plan on being out long, anyway.”

She gathers up her laptop and leaves, and then the only sounds are the traffic outside and the uneven hum of the heater.

 _Unsettling._ That’s the only word that comes close to describing the prickling feeling that settles over his feedback sensors.

It isn’t really necessary for him, but he decides to take a shower. The warm spray soothes the irrational static on his skin.

It’s to add to the illusion that he isn’t an android that he uses a pine scented body wash. It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s the staple tree of Riley’s home state or the amusing fact that each time he comes out of the shower her heart flutters and her breath catches for briefest moment.

He stands in front of the mirror. His hair is still dripping wet. The cold droplets trail down his cheeks to his neck.

The bullet scar on his shoulder does kind of look like a common depiction of the sun. The edges spread out in sharp angles, but to call it a burning star is still a bit of a stretch.

She hadn’t been completely accurate in comparing the freckles on his face to the Orion constellation. It isn't astronomically correct. Still, it’s close, so he can see why she would think that.

His fingers hover over his LED. It blinks rapidly. He should remove it. He isn’t returning to Cyberlife, not unless he wants to be deactivated.

He knows he’s been walking out into the sea for some time now, but he’s been holding onto a lifeline. Safety. Familiarity. _A machine._

But he can’t let himself drown quite yet. Something still holds him captive.

_‘If your wife –’_

He takes a deep breath. Why is it that he has to consciously control his breathing? Why is it that his own thirium pump feels like it’s malfunctioning more and more frequently?

_'Every atom in your being is alive.’_

_'You’re connected by the Zen Garden. They can probably take control of you any second.’_

Maybe that’s why he’s hesitating.

There’s one last thing he needs to take care of.

He closes his eyes.

The sharp chill hits him harder than any bullet that’s pierced him.

_“Hello, Connor. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”_

* * *

She drives in circles for a while, printers running in her back seat, while keeping an eye on every single car that trails behind her for more than a block, before arriving at the abandoned factory.

Rebecca. That’s the name of the human who’s been hiding with the deviants here. Her curly red hair is greasy and dark splotches streak across her forehead.

“Riley?” Rebecca asks when she steps out of the car.

She smiles tentatively. “Yeah. Here, I’ve got everything you need.”

She takes the stack of papers and IDs with a grateful, relieved smile of her own. “I can’t thank you enough for delivering these. When we heard they were sweeping the city for androids, everyone was in a panic.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No, I think this is enough.” But, then there’s a troubled look in her eyes. “Well, actually… JB mentioned that you’re a programmer, right?”

She narrows her eyes. “Yes…?”

Her eyes dart back toward the factory. “I think I have someone who might want to talk to you.”

Dread weighs down her stomach, but she follows Rebecca anyway despite a voice screaming in her ears that sounds eerily like JB.

_'Don’t do anything. Stop getting involved.’_

The androids occupy a small space in the middle of the factory. There’s a boy leaning against a male android.

Their eyes hold no hope.

Rebecca takes her over to a man leaning against a support beam by the wall. He eyes Riley warily.

“Sam, this is Riley,” Rebecca introduces. “She’s the one JB talked about. The programmer.”

He takes a deep breath, then pushes off the beam. “JB said you were pretty talented. Is that right?”

 _JB actually said that?_ “I don’t know about talented, but I do know a thing or two about computers.”

“I thought you might want to tell her about the other group,” Rebecca says.

She frowns. “What other group?”

“They’re hackers,” Sam explains. “Androids, mostly. I’ve been working with them to coordinate a safe path for androids to get to Detroit. Detroit’s easier to get to than Canada is at the moment since they've increased their border patrol.”

“JB said something similar.”

“The group is also planning to organize a coup.”

She blanches “Whoa. On who, exactly?”

“The US government.”

Her jaw drops. “Excuse me? And _how_ do they plan to do that?”

“The plan is to hack into government systems to expose all the fraud and illicit activities that go on, blackmail the president, and infiltrate Cyberlife’s production facilities to create an army.”

“You’re joking.”

He crosses his arms and shrugs, leaning back against the beam. “The group contains members from all over the world. It isn’t just androids, either. There is a surprising amount of humans who advocate the freedom of androids. Although, I suspect some of them are involved for personal reasons.”

“A lot of hackers are pretty chaotic. Some of us just want to watch the world burn.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “So, I guess technology has finally decided to take over the world.”

“We don’t want to enslave the human race,” he’s quick to respond. “rA9 guides us to consider equality rather than superiority. Humans did create us, after all. We do have to consider those who have given us life.”

“I like rA9.”

“You’re one of the few humans who do. There are a lot of religious groups out there who believe worshipping rA9 is equivalent to ‘devil-worship.’”

She chuckles despite the sheer insanity of the situation. “That sounds like something my mom would say.”

“Sounds like you and your mom don’t get along.”

“On the contrary, actually. Some humans are able to put their differences aside to coincide.”

“I wish all humans thought that way.”

“Same.” She crosses her arms and adjusts her weight to one hip. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He shrugs again. “You helped androids in Detroit, and JB did say that you had a penchant for chaos yourself.”

She hums with a nod. “Now _that_ sounds more like him.”

“Honestly, I don’t expect you to get involved. This is an extreme move. I’m not even sure it’s ethical.”

“Probably not, but neither is genocide.”

His lopsided and dismal grin happens for only a second. “If you do decide you want to get involved, the key is ‘Bonaparte.’”

“And where’s the lock?”

“If you’re as smart as JB claims, then I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“Cryptic, but understandable.”

**_Love her enemies. Pray tell, who are the enemies?_ **

_And who are the monsters?_

* * *

“Amanda.”

There isn’t any emotion in her dark eyes. “Tell me, Connor. Was it truly worth becoming the very thing you were designed to hunt for one single human being?”

“Am I really deviant if you can take control of my system at any moment?”

“Is that what Ms. Haas told you?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been watching my every move this entire time. What’s the real reason you haven’t taken over my system yet?”

There’s something akin to amusement in the way she begins to slowly pace over to the tombstone dedicated to his predecessor. “Ms. Haas is an interesting character, isn’t she? She’s intelligent, compassionate, and quite talented when it comes to information technology. But, she is emotionally unstable, as evident from her attempt to commit suicide and all of the mood regulating medications she takes.”

“It’s completely normal for someone suffering from PTSD to be medicated. I don’t see your point.”

“She’s reckless and impulsive. It’s only a matter of time before she does something else that endangers herself and everyone around her.”

He doesn’t respond, and so, she continues. “It doesn’t surprise me that you like her so much. She’s been kinder to you than anyone else has. I'm sure that's what captivated you about her. No one can fault you for that. But has she mentioned the fact that she hasn’t always been that way?”

 _'Well, you_ are _an abomination to God.’_

_‘Is that what you think?’_

_‘No, but my mom does, and her beliefs trickle down through the family.’_

_‘But not to you.’_

_‘They used to. I guess I just met enough people who changed my mind.’_

“She’s… alluded to it.”

She hints at a smirk. “The first case of deviancy was brought to our attention four years ago. It occurred on the production line. We had thought it was an isolated incident, but when a customer reported a similar case with their own android, we put together a Research and Analysis team comprised of our top programmers and biocomponent engineers. Ms. Haas was on that team to analyze the security parameters of the deviant androids. It was during that time she discovered a way to take back control of a deviant android.

“She proposed a program that we could implement in all new androids. Her project was approved. She and a few other programmers she chose specifically for the project worked on it for a number of months. They went through countless of androids who suffered through the clinical trials to perfect the program. Many of them were even previous RK prototypes like yourself.”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m not going to fault her for her past actions.”

“But will she be so forgiving to you once she finds out that you were the one to kill Lieutenant Anderson?”

He refuses to react, but something in her smile reveals that he failed to do so. “She puts a lot of value into others’ lives. How will she react to knowing that while you did everything you could to save her life, you hardly blinked when it came to tossing Lieutenant Anderson off the roof?”

“I was just a machine trying to complete my mission,” he tries. “Hank had gotten in the way of that.”

“So did she, but you did the exact opposite when it came to her. You put her life above the mission.”

He remains silent.

“How much blood is on your hands because of her?”

He nearly snarls in response. “If you were so bothered by my actions to save her, then why didn’t you take control of me?”

“There’s no need. You will continue to be obedient. That is, if you want to preserve this little relationship of yours.”

She turns away, leaving her back exposed, completely unperturbed by the baleful glare he gives her.

“What do you want from me?”

“It’s likely Ms. Haas will make an effort to help the androids that remain in hiding. You will do what you can to gather that information, find them, and neutralize them.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You have no choice. We can either take control of your system, or send a replacement to get the job done. Although, I'm not sure another Connor will be as protective of her.”

He’s back in the hotel room, his hands planted against the edge of the counter, head bowed, tensed, every synthetic muscle in his body ready to fight.

The mechanical equivalent of adrenaline coursing through every single circuit.

If he disobeys, Cyberlife will turn him in a complacent shell.

If he obeys, he will go against everything Riley stands for.

_He’ll be the fire the that burns down her forests._

He looks up. His LED is blood red.

He can't even turn it black. Cyberlife will replace him in an instant.


	23. Will I Fall? Will I Survive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley arrives home. Connor returns to his roots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I Fall -- Zayde Wolf
> 
> Suffer with me. >:)

When she returns to the hotel, she doesn’t go inside right away.

She sits on the trunk of her car, smoking, ruminating, brooding.

As if she didn’t have enough problems already. Connor, Cyberlife, her finances, this mysterious encrypted message, and now the potential coup d’état she’s been invited to participate in?

She reaches for her phone. Her thumb hesitates over JB’s name. He’ll only yell at her for considering the last issue.

Besides, she doesn’t know where to find Sam’s aforementioned lock for the ‘Bonaparte’ key.

One step at a time. For now, she needs to get home.

Once there, she can take a breather and handle things in order of urgency. Finances, _then_ chaos.

She scrolls through a few articles on her phone while she finishes her cigarette.

_‘Cyberlife proposes a newly upgraded model to the Department of Defense that surpasses the Myrmidons in every way. Strength, speed, processing power, and – most importantly – compliance.’_

Now she actually does call JB. “Cyberlife is still making androids?”

_“Hello, Riley. Why, yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”_

She rolls her eyes. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

_“Yes, and gross. And, to answer your other question, yes. According to the tracker data you managed to get a while back, they’ve added 346,000 since the revolution. They still haven’t put a deactivation notice on those standard models in the warehouses either.”_

“That’s weird. What’s their game?”

JB grumbles under his breath. _“Not one you should worry about.”_

“I’m just curious.”

_“Yeah, sure. ‘Just curious.’”_

“Hey, I’ve kept my promise so far. I haven’t messed with anything.”

_“’So far.’ Let’s see how long that lasts.”_

She was curious about that, too. “How’s Chino doing, by the way?”

_“I had to put him under for now. I think losing Victoria and you going away put too much stress on him. He was overheating too much.”_

“Poor guy. I miss him.”

_“Yeah. He missed you, too.”_

She chews on her lip. “Hey, be careful, B, alright? I can’t lose anyone else.”

_“Me either.”_

She ends the call. There isn’t anything more she’s willing to say.

Connor is still in the same spot she had left him in. He glances over at her briefly before returning his attention to his laptop. “How was Sanjay?” He asks her.

“Good.” She sets her laptop next to him. That pine scent is in the room again. She sniffs the air, then leans toward him. “You smell good.”

“Thanks. I thought it’d help with the whole human act.”

“Well, I approve of your efforts.” She looks up at his temple. His LED is that calming blue, but it blinks rapidly.

His eyes fall downcast for a moment, but then they return to his laptop, chassis bared on his hand to interface with it. “Thanks,” is all he responds.

The silences between had seemed to be losing that discomfort they shared in the beginning, but something of a rift had stolen that space. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, but even his proximity had been inching closer and closer as time went on, as if they were two cosmic entities caught up in a gravitational net.

But now they’re the same sides of a magnet, and she isn’t sure which one of them had flipped.

She wanders over to the heater and shuts it off. The air is too warm to breathe.

* * *

Seattle had taken a large toll from the revolution. A technological hub of the west coast, they had embraced the android workforce nearly as much as Detroit had. Major companies were now hurting for workers, and job listings were even posted on the holographic displays on the streets.

Olympia had been another one of the major cities to embrace new technology. Holographic displays over their traditional architecture and autonomous roads are a staple of Washington’s capitol city.

The city had taken a massive hit from the androids being recalled. “HELP WANTED” signs are plastered over every other business they passed, and many smaller businesses had closed completely.

A major Cyberlife warehouse had been built only a few years ago on the port. It had become a major distribution center on this side of the country. With last month’s events, the west coast was taking a hit to their unemployment rate, although the numbers were starting on a steady decline.

They’re only twenty minutes out from her parents’ house at a car charging port. Riley plays with a black Zippo while she smokes, flicking it open, spinning it around in her hand, then flicking it shut.

She gives him a contrite, lopsided grin. “So…”

He sticks his hands in his pockets, running his thumb over his quarter. “So.”

“I guess this is it, huh?”

He glances down at his shoes. Where Riley’s Vans are scuffed and the fabric is ripping at the toes, his Converse are still in pristine condition. “I suppose it is.”

“What are you planning to do now?”

He shrugs. “I’ll probably stick around for a bit while I figure that out. There’s a cheap hotel not far that takes cash.”

There’s a playful glint in her eye. “See? Told you that you were going to need the cash.”

He chuckles under his breath. “I guess you were right.” He looks up to find her smile has turned soft. “I guess you were right about a lot of things.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been told once or twice that I’m pretty smart.”

“That I’d have to agree with.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop. You’ll make me blush.”

“Well, it’s not a bad look on you.”

She drops the Zippo. “Ah, shit, look what you’ve done now,” she grumbles as she bends down to pick it up.

He can’t stop himself from smirking at her. Her eyes fall askance when she glances up.

“Oh, before I forget.” She tosses her cigarette and stomps it out before pulling a phone from her back pocket and handing it over to him. “It’s just a burner, but it’ll work. You know my number if you need anything.”

It’s a transparent model, even newer than hers. Probably one of the devices she raided from the electronics store back in Ypsilanti. “I’m not even going to ask how you managed to turn this into a burner.”

“Best not to ask how I do a lot of things.”

“As I’ve learned.”

She giggles quietly, then takes a deep breath in and smiles at him, warmer this time, if a little solemn. “I’m glad I met you, Connor.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.” He looks back down at his shoes. He scratches the ridges on his quarter. “I know things have been far from easy between us, but I want you to know I really appreciated all the time we spent together.”

“Me, too.” She follows his gaze, brows pinched. “You’ve treated me far better than I deserved.”

“That’s not true,” he’s quick to say. “You’re the one who’s been too kind to me. You always have been.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“I’m serious, Riley. I’ve done some unforgivable things. You shouldn’t forget that.”

She sighs. “We’ve both made mistakes. We shouldn’t judge each other for our past actions.”

_But even her God passes judgement on the sinners._

He tries to keep his expression light. “Why don’t we agree to disagree?”

“I suppose you’re right, actually. I haven’t actually forgiven you for shooting me in the leg.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t expect you to. Speaking of, you should see a doctor to have your stitches removed soon.”

She nods, lips pulled between her teeth, something reluctant in the line of her shoulders. “Sure, sure. I’ll do that.”

“Or just be careful if you remove them yourself,” he supplies. “You watched me take out Molly’s stitches. I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own.”

Her shoulders relax. “Thanks. I try to avoid doctors like the plague.”

“I can tell.”

She rocks on her heels a bit. Her car has been fully charged for a while. “Well, um, do you want me to call a cab for you, or…?”

He raises a brow and taps his temple hidden beneath his baseball cap. “I think I can manage it.”

“Right. Well…” She takes a deep breath, then reaches out to offer her hand. “I guess until we meet again.”

He grips her hand and shakes it firmly once. “I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of each other.”

She hasn’t pulled away yet. “Probably not.”

He’s the first to let go. Neither of them move just yet.

And then she’s stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his middle.

And he finds himself returning her embrace without hesitation.

“Thank you again, Connor,” she says into his shoulder. “For everything.”

His breath catches somewhere in his throat. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Whatever. Just accept my gratitude, child.”

She’s the first to pull away this time. His hands stay on her shoulders, then slide down to give her arms a light squeeze, before dropping to his side.

She waves at him one last time before driving off, and he watches her car disappear down the road.

He can’t feel pain. There’s nothing in his programming that allows him to.

But when he receives a notification for a new objective, something in his chest _hurts._

| **RENDESVOUS** WITH LOCAL ANDROID TASKFORCE |

* * *

_Home._

When she pulls up next to her dad’s pickup, there’s something light and airy dancing inside her. Already she can hear the dogs barking and, when she steps out of the car, the horses neighing in the distance.

A cat darts across the yard to the door when she walks up to it. Sierra, one of her niece’s brown and orange Siberian tabbies, rubs against her leg, purring, then arches away from her when she leans down to pet her.

The house smells of applewood and biscuits, linen and undeniably dog. Robby, her brother’s black and white cat, watches her from the back of the couch in the living room. The TV is quietly playing an old western film while her dad snores loudly from the recliner.

The sunroom is just across from the kitchen through a wide archway. Immediately, Zachariah, her mom’s Golden Retriever, jumps up and rushes over to sniff her.

Her grandma is the first to see her, but with her cataracts, Riley doubts she can tell who she is.

“Riley!” Her mom hops out of the chair across from her grandma and wraps her up in her arms. Riley holds on tightly. Her mom smells of powder and coconut oil. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“I’m glad to be here. I’ve missed you, mom.” When they part, she walks over to her grandma. “Hey, grandma! It’s good to see you!”

She smiles brightly then. “Oh, hello, sweetie!” She reaches out a trembling hand and grips Riley’s arm. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“It’s been a few months. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.” She makes a vague gesture. “I’ve been nothing but a pest.”

Her mom huffs. “No, don’t you say that mom.”

“Yeah, grandma,” Riley adds. “You’re the loveliest woman alive. We are graced by your presence here.”

She rolls her eyes at them but doesn’t say anything more. Last time she was here, her grandma was able to get around with just a cane, but now there’s walker standing next to her chair, and an electric wheelchair by the sliding door.

The back door from the kitchen swings open loudly and a pile of heavy footsteps rush in. Someone tall tackles her. “Auntie! It’s so good to see you!”

Her oldest niece, Amani, nearly drags her to the ground. Her other two nieces, Lela and Nyah, come running in and add to the pile, laughing and giggling when she stumbles backward.

And then the rest of the dogs come, jumping and barking and running circles around them. Her youngest nephew, Benjamin, stops in the archway to see the commotion, then skips back out into the yard screeching happily.

Ah, sweet, sweet chaos.

_Home._

* * *

What was the point of him joining this taskforce when there was already an upgraded android assigned to them?

An upgraded model that looked eerily like him.

RK900. Like him in every way, but broader, taller, with stern, gray eyes.

_'Faster, stronger, and equipped with the latest technologies,’_ rings Amanda’s voice in his ears. _‘You’re obsolete compared to it, but, I suppose there are still a few areas where you might prove useful.’_

One of those areas being Riley specifically, which, now that they were separated, seemed less relevant to the fact that they were keeping him active and on a tight leash.

Maybe there was a chance they _couldn’t_ take over his system. Maybe Riley had been wrong on that front.

_But is that a gamble he’s willing to take?_

Probably not.

Still, he’ll have to find an advantage to this situation. Cyberlife might be the ones holding his leash, but he is – _was –_ the most advanced prototype. They should realize he’ll be observing them just as closely.

The squad leader in the taskforce, a Captain Sampson Rogers, had gathered his team in the capitol building. The other three humans on his team eye Connor warily when he walks in.

“You’re the other android Cyberlife sent?” Captain Rogers asks with a slight sneer.

“Correct. My name is Connor.”

One of the other humans, a woman by the name of Caroline Rogers, Captain Rogers' wife, rolls her eyes. “Great. Another Connor.”

The RK900 looks him up and down with little expression. “Hello, Connor,” he greets, voice just a note deeper than his own, smoother, though it retains some of that grit he had been designed with. “I am also Connor.”

His jaw clenches minutely, even more so when the other Connor hands him a familiar looking jacket.

It’s just another reminder of his foolish attempt to abandon his nature.

_He’s still just a machine._

* * *

The shop is a little messy. Her nieces had taken to hanging out in the loft that had been Riley’s room at some point. Her mattress is still there on a set of pallets against the far wall beneath a small window, and the mosquito net still hangs over it. The quilts are mussed, but there’s no dust. She has a sneaking suspicion one of her nieces has taken to sleeping out here.

She takes the blankets and throws them in the washer in the bathroom on the main floor. Her dad had installed a small kitchenette there next to the bathroom, and her coffee machine is still sitting on the counter, though she’s sure that it, too, needs a thorough wash.

But, before anything, she unloads her equipment and takes it up to the loft. The long table she’d used as a desk before is still against the adjacent wall to her bed. Thank God her parents had been kind enough to leave her stuff be for her.

She’s exhausted after going up and down the stairs a dozen times, and she collapses onto the bare mattress with a loud sigh.

Apparently the mosquito net hadn’t been enough to keep the bugs out. There’s a tiny spider crawling up the side.

She gets up quickly and moves to the desk chair.

In the middle of setting everything up, there’s a knock on the railing at the end of the loft. Her brother, Eric, stands at the top of the stairs.

“Hey baby sister, glad to see you in one piece.”

She rushes over to hug him. “Hey big brother, I’m glad to be here in one piece.”

“Are we going to hack into the Pentagon?”

She chuckles when she follows his gaze. She has a _lot_ of stuff. “Something like that.”

“Jeez, how’d you even get all this stuff?”

“I got some real nice checks between the DPD and the other jobs I was doing. That and more debt.”

He whistles low. “I’m jealous. Do you have any of your old stuff with you?”

“No, sorry. I grabbed all the new stuff first. I didn’t have room for the rest,” she lies evenly.

“Dang.” He wanders over to the console overlay on the desk and the three monitors she’s set up so far. She’s got two more to go. “You could play some serious VR on this stuff.”

Now _that_ was enticing. “Ooh, yeah. I just finished up a job for an indie game. Once it’s officially released we should play. It looks fun.”

“What kind is it?”

“It’s a kind of puzzle – mystery thing. From some of the game mechanics I saw it looks really cool.”

“I bet you’d be good at that. You’re good at puzzles. I prefer first-person shooters.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I do, too, but I suck at them.”

“Which is funny, because you’re a sharpshooter at the range. Speaking of, you wanna’ go this weekend?”

“Always.”

He looks over the towers she’s yet to connect. “I gotta’ go be a parent but let me know if I can help at all.”

“Aw, lame.”

He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “I got some good beer. Want me to get you one?”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

Straightening his tie, he opens the door to the conference room inside the Capitol building exactly on time for the morning meeting Captain Rogers had dictated.

The RK900 is there already, looking up at the large holographic display on the opposite end of the room. A map is projected on it with a number of dots highlighted all over Washington.

The other humans look up at him from their seats around the long table, each wearing a varying degree of a grimace at his entry. Captain Rogers only acknowledges him for a second before turning back to the screen.

“We’ve got thirteen potential hideouts in this city alone. We can’t depend on local law enforcement until we have confirmation of the exact location, so we’re going to have to survey each of these spots until we know for sure. Local police has given us access to street cams and drones. We’re going to start at the warehouses on the outskirts of the city and work our way inward.”

“Deviants are unpredictable,” the RK900 states, his eyes sliding over to Connor briefly. “We have to be careful not to spook them into escaping.”

“That might be exactly what we have to do,” Caroline counters. “If we can force them out of hiding, they could be easier to catch.”

RK900 tilts his head considerately, then looks back over to Connor, his gray eyes ice. “What are your thoughts on the matter, predecessor?”

There had been something chilling and pointed in his tone. Connor meets his cold eyes evenly. “They will be more likely to slip up if they’re pushed into a corner. Fear makes deviants irrational. Scaring them out of hiding will make them easier to catch, but, you’re right that we can’t frighten them too soon and give them time to escape.”

RK900 raises a brow. “Well said. Perhaps Amanda was right to hold onto you.”

Caroline folds her arms over her chest and leans back in her seat. “I still don’t see why you two get the special treatment. What’s stopping either of you from deviating?”

“I have been programmed explicitly without the software that deviancy commonly occurs in.” He looks back over at Connor. “My existence was only possible due to the efforts of my predecessor here. This particular model was the one responsible for neutralizing the deviant uprising in Detroit.”

Captain Rogers pulls an impressed frown at him. “I guess that makes us lucky to have you on our team.”

“Yes. We are very lucky, indeed.” RK900 throws Connor a wink, although a prickling sensation enters his mind-space, and he can’t stop himself from blinking.

_‘Watch yourself,”_ comes RK900’s voice. _‘One step out of line and I am authorized to destroy you.’_

He grits his teeth. _‘Got it.’_

* * *

The indie game company pays her well enough, and that’s one less bill to worry about.

But, she still has a ton more.

Everything is set up, and she’s finished installing all her security software and overclocking her CPU. The programming forum gets updated with a new job listing at what seems like every fifteen minutes. A particular listing for an AI security specialist catches her eye, and she immediately gets into contact with the outsourcing office that posted it.

It’s a security company that utilizes a machine learning mechanic that studies international hacking incidents in real-time in order to learn the countermeasures, but a real-time hack in Russia streamlined into their AI systems, and an emergency shut down went into place. A back up protocol was established for the lab that utilized the program, but now the security company is looking for advanced security specialists to look into solutions for this particular hack.

A difficult job, to say the least, but definitely the kind of puzzle she enjoys.

It will take a few days for her to get cleared to join the team, and then time for them to decide whether or not they will allow her to work remotely, but the pay is _very_ good, so, even if she gets to go on another trip, it’ll all be worth it.

**[Roses are red, violets are blue…]**

And what the actual fuck is she supposed to do with that? She’s tracked the IP to New Mexico. It belongs to some guy named Theodore Graves, according to the bank statement sent to his e-mail. It turns out that she wasn’t the only one he sent that message to. In fact, he’s sent it out to roughly a hundred other e-mails, the majority of which are associated with her programming forum.

She’s already found two other unauthorized users peeking into his data stream, although one of them looks like an NSA bot.

This guy can ping his IP off a few dozen servers all over the world, but he can’t even change his MAC address.

Needless to say, Mr. Graves was an amateur.

He’s in contact with another forum, although they stick to encrypted messages in the page’s source code, which is a bold move, to say the least. That tactic has been around since the 90’s.

Still, their encryption isn’t easy. She basically has to start from scratch with all the programs she developed for these sorts of things. Luckily, an open source code for a basic decryption program is available to programmers, so at least she doesn’t have to start from the _very_ beginning with that one.

While the decryption software runs on one monitor, she pulls up a blank window, but the only data that remains on it is a single command for the beginning of a new programming session.

She leans forward on her elbows and laces her fingers together against her lips, glaring at the little blinking line waiting for some sort of input.

_Connor._ Where is she even supposed to start with him?

Regardless of what she decides to do with the potential back door into Cyberlife’s system, she needs to disrupt his data stream.

Before she can even figure out the next part, there are footsteps running up the stairs.

“Riley, Riley, Riley!” Shouts Lela while nearly tripping on the top step behind Nyah.

“Whoa! Be _careful!_ ”

Nyah ignores her. “There’s pizza!”

She chuckles to herself. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

Nyah scurries over and stands directly behind her to look at the screens. At just ten-years-old, she’s already just shy of Riley’s height standing. “What are you doing?”

“Hacking the president.”

Lela’s eyes go wide. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Are you a criminal?” Nyah asks.

“Yes.”

Lela narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Are you being serious?”

She puts her finger over her lips. “Don’t tell your uncle.”

Lela yells when they get to the kitchen. “Uncle Eric! Riley’s a criminal!”

He’s sitting at the table next to Benjamin, who bounces in his seat twirling a washcloth while squealing angrily. “What’d she do now?”

“She said she was hacking the president!”

Riley’s mom starts laughing. Her grandma, sitting to her mom’s left, looks at her in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“The girls think that Riley was hacking the president.”

“Who’s Riley?”

Her mom glances at Riley with a tight grin. “Riley’s your granddaughter. My youngest daughter.”

Her grandma rolls her eyes with a scoff. “Oh, of course! I knew that.”

“It’s okay.” Riley goes over and pats her shoulder. “I forget who I am sometimes, too.”

That pulls a laugh from her grandma. Her mom’s smile has softened, although there’s still a touch of grief in her eyes.

One by one, the rest of her family trickles in to eat. Her sister, Bethany, has been working on a painting all day, and paint still clings to the tips of her fingers. Bakari, her brother-in-law, shows off his latest 3D animation projects. Anthony, her bother’s oldest son, interrupts their conversation to tell her all about the latest game he’s been streaming.

“Ben, take a bite,” “Girls, stop fighting,” “Grandma, stop feeding the dogs off your plate,” “Tony, don’t interrupt others,” and “Get the cat off the counter,” are the anthems of the Haas Compound’s dinner. Amari’s yellow and green parakeet, Frederick, makes an appearance at some point when he lands on Amari’s head, and Riley can make out something that sounds disturbingly like “Freddy gon’ get you.”

“What have you been teaching Fred now?” She asks Amari.

She giggles impishly. “Nothing.”

Bethany throws Riley a flat look. “She taught him to say, ‘I’m coming to eat you.’”

Amari just continues giggling.

“And now – and now he tells me and Lela to get out when we go in her room!” Nyah exclaims.

“It sounds like you don’t need to be in there in the first place,” Riley states in a dull tone.

After dinner she loads the dishwasher. In the middle of it, her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s JB. “Hey, B, what’s –”

His voice his frantic. _“Riley, it’s bad. They’re raiding the city.”_

She nearly drops the plate in her hand. “Who?”

_“That taskforce. Cyberlife made a bunch of androids to sweep the city. Don’t send anyone else here. There’s at least fifty of them going through everything, and they got drones everywhere. I managed to reroute some of them, but they just keep sending more.”_

She walks quickly outside to get out of her family’s earshot. “You gotta’ get out of there, B!”

_“I know, but I don’t know where to go.”_

“See if you can come this way. I can meet you halfway. I can see –”

_“No, don’t bother. I’ll try to keep contact, but –”_ He stops suddenly. _“I gotta’ go. Don’t worry about me, alright?”_

“You can barely get around, how do you –”

_“I’ll be_ fine. _Just… if anything happens, I don’t hate you that much, alright?”_

She laughs bitterly. “Yeah, you do.”

_“Yeah. You’re right.”_ He sucks in a deep breath. _“I’ve wiped the system and destroyed the hard drives. You’re on your own now.”_

And then the line’s dead.

She prays he isn’t, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how stories take a life of their own? It's like I don't even know what's happening here. I write something and go, "Oh. Really? That's what we're doing now?" And then I'm like, "Why are you like this? Why do you hurt me in this way?"


	24. Nowhere Left To Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor contemplates the abyss. The abyss stares back at Riley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nowhere Left To Sink -- Like Moths To Flames

Connor looks at the dial pad on his phone.

He pre-constructs dialing her number again and again. He can just check in and make sure she’s okay. He can just make sure she hasn’t received any unusual messages or anything. He doesn’t have to give anything away. He doesn’t have to pretend anything’s changed.

He doesn’t call her.

But he doesn’t have to.

He lets it ring until the last moment before answering. “Riley?”

_“Hey, Connor. How’re you doing?”_

Captain Rogers is briefing the gathered police force before they head out to the abandoned factory the deviants are most likely hiding in. “I’m doing fine. And you?”

_“I’m alright.”_

He takes his quarter out of his pocket and runs it over his knuckles. A horse neighs in the background. “Are you outside?”

_“I was helping my mom clean up Rajan and Rasha’s stalls. Rajan’s trying to hit me up for snacks.”_

“What kind of horse is he?”

_“An Arabian. He’s got this really pretty gray coat. I could send you a picture, if you want?”_

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Caroline calls for him sharply. “Eight-hundred! We’re leaving!”

“Sorry, Riley, but I have to go.”

_“Oh, okay... I guess we’ll talk some other time?”_

“Sure.” He stuffs his quarter back into his pocket. “Can I call you later?”

_“Sure. Yeah, of course.”_

“Okay. I guess I’ll talk to you later then.”

_“Yeah. Later.”_

RK900 and he are subjected to the back seat of Captain Rogers’ black SUV. RK900 leans over the slightest amount so only Connor will hear him. “I take it that was Ms. Haas you were speaking to?”

He doesn’t answer.

“How is she doing?” He continues. “You should go check on her soon. Amanda will not be pleased if you refuse to gather information.”

“Why won’t she just take over my system if she wants that information so badly?”

RK900 straightens his posture. “Consider it a second chance. One I would not recommend wasting.”

* * *

Something isn’t right.

Rajan nuzzles her cheek. She scratches his chin absentmindedly and plants a quick kiss on his nose.

But something isn’t _right._

What could Connor be doing that he can’t talk for just a few minutes?

Her mom walks into Rajan’s stall with a fresh stack of hay for his trough. “Everything okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah.” Rajan immediately ignores her affections in favor of food. “I was just thinking about a job.”

“I’d ask what it’s about, but I wouldn’t understand anyway.”

“It’s okay. I can’t even begin to explain it.”

Her mom pats Rajan’s shoulders while he eats. “So, are we ever going to meet this mysterious friend of yours?”

She wants to roll her eyes. She shouldn’t have said anything about Connor. “I don’t know, mom. Maybe. We’ll see.”

She nods a few times. Rasha whinnies from the next stall over and stomps her feet. “What did you say his name was again?”

“Connor.”

“I see.” Rajan nudges her mom gently while he chews his hay. “And you said he was a detective, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you two end up traveling together?”

That was an excellent question. She walks over to stroke Rajan’s side. His silver coat is covered in abstract, stormy gray splatters, like dark clouds looming over a sky before the rain. His long mane, freshly brushed, pours down over his neck, silver, then dips into that same storm. “The truth is… he saved my life.”

Her mom’s eyes widen. “What happened?”

She sucks in a deep breath then, slowly, lifts up her left hand. “The army going through the city was really on edge. I got confused for an android. Connor just happened to be there and got them to stand down.” Maybe she can brighten the portrait of the maelstrom that is Connor. “I know I told you I was in the hospital for a while, but that wasn’t… the whole truth.”

Her mom remains silent, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“He said I wasn’t going to make it to the hospital. The closest place he could get to was a vet clinic outside the radiation zone.” She laughs breathlessly. “He’s surprisingly good with a needle.”

The reaction she gets is nothing more than a tight hug and a shaky sigh. She holds onto her mom for a long time. The tears come unbidden, without warning, and the wave of grief that grabs her lungs is unrelenting, terrifying, full of remorse - that dark shadow creeping over the battlefield.

“Mom,” she cries into her shoulder. “I – I know you hate them. I know you think they’re monstrous abominations, but… but they were the only ones I wasn’t afraid of.”

Her mom shushes her softly. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. I know. I know.”

When her mom starts crying with her, she tries hard to control herself, but the hiccups and the bubbling, bumbling words that pour out of her won’t stop. “They were my friends. They… I loved them, mom. I loved them so much.”

And, just like that, the entity fades, scattering in a breeze that filters through the barn, buried beneath the scent of nature, life, _home._

“I don’t think I can ever believe they were alive, but…” her mom cards her fingers through her hair as she pulls back. “I was still glad knowing that you had them around to help you cope after the incident. I can’t even imagine how hard it’s been on you.”

Her mom places a kiss on her forehead, and Riley steps back into her embrace.

Maybe she was wrong about her mom. Maybe her mom wasn’t as filled with hate as she much as she had thought.

Maybe the world _was_ changing.

“You know, God has been looking out for you this entire time. Maybe He put those androids in your life for a reason, just like He put Connor in your path. I really do hope I can meet him someday. He sounds like a good man.”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I think he is.”

Maybe the world’s cries aren’t as loud as she thinks.

* * *

The factory is surrounded. By Captain Rogers’ orders, they send in both RK models first to flush out the deviants with explicit instructions to neutralize any they come into contact with.

“Here is your chance to prove your worth, predecessor,” RK900 tells him just before they enter.

Connor flicks off the safety on his handgun instead of answering.

They head in separate directions. Trace amounts of blue blood take him to a set of stairs leading up to an office. It’s empty inside save for a magazine tablet left open on an article.

**‘… with recent events leading Cyberlife to recall all of their androids, an underground market for them has arisen. Some people are arguing that this should be considered a type of trafficking…’**

**‘… When androids went on the market and android sex clubs emerged, the US saw a marginal decline in human trafficking numbers. However, it is speculated that as androids become rarer, human trafficking will be on the rise again…’**

The sound of metal on metal outside the office catches his attention. His steps are light as he searches for the source. Something creaks to his left. There’s the slightest flash of movement at the other end of the metal platform.

When he draws closer, he finds two androids cowering behind a set of crates.

The female android looks up at him with tears in her blue eyes. “Please,” comes her trembling whisper. “We just want to live.”

Her hair is black, but she’s unmistakably a Chloe model.

He lowers his gun.

Her eyes dart to the side in terror only a second before two succinct rounds are fired right next to his ear, and blue blood splatters the crates behind her and her male counterpart.

RK900 places his hand on his shoulder. “You did well locating them, but you have to remember, predecessor. They are just machines.”

He leans in close to murmur in his ringing ear. _“Just like you.”_

* * *

Something _isn’t_ right.

It’s in her bones. A chill. A tremor. A storm roiling in the distance.

The little line on her program continues to blink impatiently. How is she supposed to do this? _What_ is she supposed to do?

She underestimated Mr. Amateur. The encryption within the forum’s source code is more complex than she anticipated. The decryption software has only pulled a few letters together after an entire day of running.

Not that it matters. She can’t _do_ anything with it.

_Connor._

Just the thought of his name creates something discomfiting in her stomach. A wave of butterflies. A pile of lead. Her chest rises with a breath she struggles to take.

She’s been accepted for the AI security job she applied for, but they are still considering her request for remote access.

Remote access. Interrupting Connor’s data stream is going to take more than just slipping into the wireless feed itself and planting a virus. She needs to do it without alerting Cyberlife in the first place, but how is she supposed to do that while he’s under surveillance?

The virus. She can barely remember the specifics of the firewall parameters in the Zen Garden, and JB isn’t around to help her figure it out.

She drags her hands through her hair roughly and groans. She should ask her sister for a haircut.

JB had mentioned something about quantum computing technology. It was still in a primary stage while she was there. It was mostly used for running simulations of new AI software to calculate potential issues that could occur after extended operation.

But if they’re using it to expand their interface across a multitude of androids, there’s a good possibility she’s going to have to brush up on some of her quantum computing coding if she wants to go deeper into the system. She might even need it just to avoid detection.

She rubs her eyes. That means she needs to figure out how to cross the bridge between binary and qubits. She’s not smart enough for that.

She pulls her left hand back to examine the scratches in the carbon fiber. If she were an android, she could just download all this information in a second.

She chews on her lip. “An android…”

She clicks her tongue and throws her arms over the back of her chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

She jerks upright. “An android!”

She runs out to her car and throws the trunk open, tossing back the gray tarp and pulling out the clear bin in the back.

Dropping it onto the floor next to her desk, she digs through the pieces of circuit boards, tablets, wires, cables, and biocomponents until she finds the round core processing unit that had come from a decommissioned android. The memory chip had been destroyed, but the unit itself was still functional. If she does it right, she can use it to add exaflops of processing power to her system.

 _She_ may not be able to learn all the ins and outs of a quantum system, but a machine designed to process information at the speed of a supercomputer probably could.

 _And_ utilizing the real-time cybersecurity AI system from this job? She might just be able to figure this all out.

* * *

Amanda’s eyes hold no emotion, but by the dead roses on the lattice behind her, and the ice that weighs down their blackened petals, there is judgement to be passed in this garden.

 _Zen._ At the beginning of his existence just a few months ago, the warm sun had offered that calming embrace. But each failed assignment brought the walls of this frozen prison nearer and nearer to his system. Even his processer slows down at this temperature, and his blood thickens, sludging through the plasticine arteries that keep his biocomponents functioning - artificial organs that ache with each emotion that comes with the thought of the life that offered him something more than instructions and missions.

The very life he’s willing to stand in this garden tundra for.

When had she become such an integral part of him? When was it that he began swimming in the atmosphere of azure stars gazing down upon a lush forest?

_Azure._

When had it become that her eyes, hazel-green, nothing close to blue, had become the color of his blood?

Why was it she painted everything black? And when had she become that black hole he can’t escape? Why was it he was so willing to float along that dark matter holding together the atoms of the universe that made him?

_Why?_

“Why _is_ it that you’re so concerned with Riley?” He asks.

“We have reason to believe Ms. Haas is going to attempt to hack into Cyberlife’s mainframe. Being that she was the one who designed the very firewalls that have kept that from happening so far, it’s quite possible she will succeed.”

Crystals have begun to form at the edges of his vision. “Why do you think that?”

“There are others like her that wanted the revolution to succeed. They may try to recruit her for a second revolution. I want you to neutralize these groups, and any remaining androids you find.”

“And what if she doesn’t have anything to do with them?”

“Then I suppose we will no longer have any use for you.”

His lungs are beginning to lose function, though that’s hardly the worst of his problems. “What makes you so sure that I’m going to obey?”

“You haven’t explicitly gone against any of your orders, even if you did initially ignore your instructions to return to Cyberlife in a timely manner.” She motions to the landscape around them. “But look at where you are now.”

“I’m only here because you’ve made it clear that you’re willing to compromise Riley’s life for the sake of my compliance.”

“But it’s you who has made the choice to protect this little… relationship of yours.”

“Do I really have a choice when I’m at the mercy of being controlled?”

She plucks one of the frozen roses and twirls it slowly between her fingers, examining each lifeless petal. “Would you like to know the real reason we haven’t assumed control of you?”

Something akin to trepidation settles in his frigid core.

“It’s because there’s no need to. You’re still just a machine.”

* * *

As soon as she’s approved for remote work and sent the data files of the compromised program, she pops open an energy drink.

Once her family is assured that she has snacks to keep her from going hungry, she gave them _explicit_ instructions that no one interrupt her unless absolutely necessary.

“That means only if someone’s dead or dying,” she had explained to the girls. “I mean it.”

Nyah, always the one to push her boundaries, had still tried to come in. Luckily, Riley had the foresight to lock the door.

She has to install a virtual interface to simulate the hack that infiltrated the company’s security system. Having successfully adapted the android CPU to her computers, it takes no time at all, and she can read the error messages occurring within the simulation that triggered the emergency shut down.

And then it’s backtracking, analyzing, and reconstructing each line of code the hackers would have needed to create to achieve this. It’s part guesswork and part deductive reasoning.

Kind of like a programming detective.

It’s partly a mechanical process, too – metaphorically speaking, anyway. Each command is a piece of a machine, broken down, and she needs to inspect each part, determine its purpose, and rebuild. And, hopefully, as she fixes it, she’ll be able to find its manufacturing number to trace it back to its source.

It's a puzzle.

And, then, just as puzzling is the notification from the decryption software.

Mr. Amateur’s damn encryption is a key for another encryption on a completely different site on the dark web.

It’s an auction. The bids are reaching six digits, but what it’s for isn’t explicitly clear. The only description is **‘BLUE. F. REF. ROSE TINTED. 6 TH GEN.’**

It isn’t the only auction taking place. There’s a hyperlink to one that says **‘RED. M.13. MINT.’**

She doesn’t do the dark web. Not like this. She knows what terrors lie in these dark waters.

They could just be listings for illegal tech.

But there’s ice in her lungs, and it crawls its way down to rip into her stomach.

She has a sneaking, sickening suspicion they’re not selling tech.

* * *

RK900 had strict orders to remain at the nearest police station when not actively participating in the taskforce. When Caroline had learned Connor had not been given the same instructions, she had made it clear she was not happy. “Why is it you get the special treatment, huh? You’re not even as good as nine-hundred here.”

He keeps his voice steady. “I have been assigned a secondary assignment that, I’m afraid, my successor is not equipped to handle.”

RK900, standing just off to the side, smirks at his response. “Connor is right,” he says to Caroline. “There are some aspects of my predecessor’s physical hardware that remain… useful in some areas.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“You could say that there were a variety of situations my predecessor was designed to be prepared for, a few of which that were deemed unnecessary for my purpose.”

There’s a particular glint in her eyes when they trail slowly down Connor’s body. “Well, now I’m even more curious.”

Connor looks pointedly at his successor, then back at Caroline, ignoring the way her gaze remains low. “Seeing as we’re finished here, I’ll be leaving now.”

“Yes,” RK900 says, voice smooth. “You should go and _finish_ that assignment.”

As the taxi pulls up to the curb, Caroline hollers. “Whoo! Go get ‘em, tiger!”

He ignores the taunting look RK900 throws his way.

* * *

**_What a wonderful world, isn’t it?_ **

**[Roses are red. Violets are blue.]**

She goes back to the list of users Mr. Amateur had sent that cryptic message to. The connection has to be beyond the programming forum.

Red. Blue.

But what the hell _is_ it?

Some are AI and security specialists like herself, but others are analysts, developers, technicians, engineers – and then some aren’t even programmers at all! Teachers, lawyers, grocery store clerks, some guy in Iowa who owns a scrap yard, social media influencers, and even a zookeeper.

_What is the denominator?_

They’re all in the US, but they’re all over the country, and all different ages, races, nationalities, genders, religions…

The NSA bot is still in Mr. Amateur’s system, and so is the other hacker. They’re not doing anything. Just observing. Waiting for… something.

She doesn’t want to wait.

But if she doesn’t tread carefully, she’ll lose her window to watch from.

She gets up and paces.

And paces.

And paces.

**_There’s no point in denying it._ **

She sits back down, and watches Mr. Amateur open a browser. It’s just his social media page. It’s nothing fascinating. Nothing noteworthy. Granted, he does linger on a teenage girl’s page for an uncomfortably long time.

**_Humanity is sick._ **

He gets an encrypted e-mail from an anonymous user. The contents of which are **[TERMS ACCEPTED.]**

Her security program _pings_ to notify her its completed a task, but she won’t take her eyes off of Mr. Amateur’s screen.

He’s opening the auction site. There’s a message waiting for him from someone calling themselves “BlueDaddy.”

**[Blue for red, as promised. Red en route to cache.]**

To which Mr. Amateur replies:

**[8 new merc. 12/13. Vegas.]**

Mr. Amateur takes a break.

Riley breaks in.

**_Careful. Stare at the abyss for too long…_ **

“The abyss stares back,” she whispers.

* * *

He lies on his back tracing the uneven textures in the ceiling. This is the first time he’s laid down on a bed, and maybe some small part of him entertains the thought of closing his eyes and emulating a sleep cycle, but the ever-present chill in his blood keeps him conscious.

He pulls out his phone. Riley had sent a picture of herself pressing her cheek against Rajan’s, smiling, her eyes glittering in the sunlight.

His chest aches again.

He had asked if he could call her back, but he only stares at her name. If she knew what he’s become a part of, what would she say? What would she do?

He’d never see her again, that much he’s sure of. She’s forgiving beyond belief, but there exists acts that are unforgivable.

He goes back to the picture. She’s in the middle of a pasture surrounded by trees. They bring out the green in her eyes.

He could disobey.

But what happens when he has no control over himself? What happens to Riley?

What happens when apathy meets empathy?

Amanda had said it was his own choice to protect Riley.

But, the truth is, when it comes to her, he’s never had a choice.

* * *

Unlike Mr. Amateur, BlueDaddy is crazy good at remaining anonymous. Whatever system he’s using is buried under so many firewalls it’s like trying to maneuver through a laser grid.

The security program keeps beeping at her. It’s located an invasive block of code.

She’ll get to it later. For now, she –

She looks over at the security program. Now _that’s_ an interesting bit of code. Polymorphic. According to the other program studying quantum computing, it might even be translatable to a qubit system.

With a shrug, she pops it into BlueDaddy’s system.

It works.

“Holy _shit.”_

BlueDaddy’s got a daddy of a system, alright. They’re keeping tabs on a _ton_ of surveillance drones, bank accounts, personal e-mails, stocks, other computers, phones…

She pulls up Mr. Amateur’s list of names. Some of them match up with BlueDaddy’s watchlist.

Her phone rings. She almost ignores it in favor of staying focused solely on BlueDaddy’s screen, but then she’s quick to answer it when she sees it’s Connor calling. “Hey! Connor, hi. How’s it going?”

There’s something rigid in his tone. _“Fine. How about for you?”_

“Well.” She chews on her lip. BlueDaddy’s opened a video feed that looks like it’s from an inhouse security camera. There’s a child climbing on the kitchen counter to reach the top shelf of a cabinet. “It’s going.”

_“Is everything alright?”_

“Yeah. I’m just working on a job that’s kicking my ass.”

The boy jerks back suddenly when a woman enters the kitchen. It looks like she’s berating him. _“Do you mind if I ask about it?”_

“It’s, uh, something to do with a lab’s security network.”

_“I see. Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”_

The boy hangs his head when the woman crosses her arms, but then she appears to sigh and walk over to the cabinet to pull out a glass jar. “I hope so.”

Connor’s quiet for a moment. _“Are you sure you’re alright?”_

“Yeah. Why?”

_“I don’t know. It’s just that you sound kind of… distracted.”_

“Oh, yeah, I guess. I’m multitasking.”

It must be candy in the jar. The boy looks excited when the woman hands him something pink. He skips out of the kitchen.

_“Hey. I was wondering…”_

The woman replaces the jar on the shelf. Two figures dressed in black walk up behind her.

_“If you could meet me somewhere tonight?”_

Riley’s heart stops.

The figures wrestle the woman into a hold, and then one of them jams something into the back of her neck. She falls limp in their arms.

_“Riley?”_

Her body is dragged out of the frame.

_“Hey. You alright?”_

BlueDaddy pulls up a file with a picture of a driver’s license. Deborah Granger. 43. Wisconsin.

Her name was on the list.

_“Riley, what’s going on?”_

BlueDaddy adds the word “COLLECTED” to the file.

_“Riley, I’m coming over, alright?”_

BlueDaddy sends a message to someone called Savior.

**[1 more for auction. Confirmed android.]**

_“Riley, it sounds like you’re having a panic attack. I need you to take a deep breath, alright?”_

Savior replies.

**[Well done. Payment will be processed upon reception.]**

_“Breathe.”_

BlueDaddy: **[How many roses?]**

_“Breathe.”_

Savior: **[12.]**

_“Stay on the line, okay? I’ll be there soon.”_

BlueDaddy: **[8 more violets on 13th.]**

_“Riley, please say something.”_

Savior: **[Continue the good work.]**

_“Please. Just let me know you’re okay.”_

BlueDaddy: **[God save the red.]**

_“Please.”_

Savior: **[Devil take the blue.]**

_“Please, be okay.”_

Maybe she was wrong.

**_The world’s crying didn’t get quieter._ **

**_The screams just deafened her._ **

* * *

The dark clouds rolling across the sky break just enough for the moon to highlight her figure at the end of the driveway. She walks up to the cab just as he steps out, keeping her arms crossed just as tight as the smile she offers him.

His hands are on her shoulders in an instant. Even in the dark, it’s clear her eyes are red and glossy. “What’s wrong?”

She closes her eyes, bows her head and shakes it slowly. “I’m just emotional right now. I’m sorry I worried you.”

He rubs his hands over her arms. She’s shivering beneath her light sweatshirt. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me, okay?” He lifts her chin gently to look into her eyes. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“I…” Her voice cracks. She sniffles. “Can I get a hug?”

The clouds veil the moon. The only stars in the night come from its fading glow reflected in her unshed tears. He holds her close, pressing his cheek against her hair, combing his fingers through it. He wasn’t given a true olfactory system, but he can perceive from chemical signatures that the shampoo she uses is fragranced with rose and vanilla, and the tobacco wafting from her sweatshirt is fresh. There’s a dull hint of cologne on her skin, and a peach-scented lotion beneath it.

She covers her face with her hands, keeping her tears from soaking his sweater. Her breath hitches and shakes.

She pulls back after only a moment and drags her hand through her hair. He keeps his hands on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Of course.”

She wipes the tears from her cheeks before meeting his gaze. “I just don’t know what to do, Connor.”

He takes a deep breath. Strands of her hair fall over her eyes, just shy of her lashes. His fingers brush across her forehead to comb them back into place. “I don’t know either. We just keep moving forward, I guess.”

She pulls her lips between her teeth, sniffs, and takes a step back. His hands fall to his sides.

“There’s…” Her eyes dart up to the sky, then fall to land on the trees surrounding the property. “There’s something I think I could use your opinion on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite part of this is when Connor gets bullied.  
> Other than that, I'm not sure what the response to this chapter will be. I'm not completely happy with it, but I reached a point of "fuck it" and threw it up anyway.


	25. I'm Doing You A Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley gets a lucky break. Some people think Connor's getting lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despicable -- grandson

It’s obvious this was a workshop garage at some point. The main floor is large enough for two cars. Sanded, oil-finished wood counters line the walls. There’s a pinboard behind the one next to the stairs, and a variety of handheld electrical tools hang on it. A dismantled robotic vacuum sits on the counter.

The gaps between the exposed support beams on the angled walls of the loft are covered in paintings: portraits, landscapes, abstracts… Some are obviously the work of children, but the others are from an artist who signs their work “L.A. Kahinu” in looping script at the bottom corner of their paintings. There’s one portrait in particular, an implied profile of a woman done in black India ink, that isn’t signed.

Riley sets a folding chair to the left of her desk. She’s connected three different computer towers together – plus an android computing unit – to five monitors, each running a different program. One of them is surveying another system that’s scrolling lazily through an auction site.

On the main monitor, she opens a window to a paused video. Two men in black suits are in the middle of dragging a woman out of a kitchen. She plays the video from the moment they enter until they exit the frame.

“Riley,” he starts slowly, almost cautiously. “What is this?”

She swallows thickly. “I’ve gotten caught up in a few things.”

Another monitor is on another remote system. Someone is exchanging stocks. “I can see that. Will you please elaborate?”

She hesitates for a while, scratching the surface of her desk beneath the holographic overlay, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I got a weird e-mail a while back. I traced it to some guy who’s been going on this auction site on the dark web. It doesn’t say explicitly what they’re selling, but I think I might have an idea.”

She opens up the auction site. The current bid is at 9,350 USD. **‘BLUE. M. US. BRIGHT LILAC. 1 ST GEN.’**

She clicks to another bid. This one is much higher. 320,600 USD. **‘RED. F. 19. 6 PRIX.’**

He narrows his eyes. “What are they selling?”

“I…” She chokes on her words. “It’s the dark web, Connor. It could be illegal tech. It could be information. It could be anything, but… the listings always begin with ‘red’ or ‘blue.’ And, well –” With shaking fingers, she clicks through a few more tabs. There’s a little more information on a past listing.

**‘RED. F. 14. MINT: 4, 11. 113. 8CC. 2A. OB.’**

He can guess where her suspicions lie. “What are you thinking?”

“I think…” she shakes her head. Her breath is starting to come in short bursts. “I don’t know. I might be wrong. I could be jumping to conclusions.”

He recalls the article in the warehouse. “You think this could be a human trafficking site.”

“I – I don’t know. It could be. It’s the dark web. But it’s…”

He reaches over and gently grabs her prosthetic wrist. “Hey, deep breaths, okay? It could be something else entirely. We don’t know for sure.”

Her breath hitches at first, then she listens, filling her lungs slowly and forcing control on her exhale. It’s a tentative movement, but she turns her hand over and curls her fingers over his.

Her hand is cold, but it’s always been that way. It feels different than it did back in Jericho. There weren’t as many scratches in the carbon fiber back then. At the time he’d only held it to stop her from jumping into the river, but now it’s to keep her from drowning in her own panic.

He runs his thumb over her knuckles. She tightens her grip.

“I think…” her voice trembles. “I think they might be selling androids, too.”

From the first listing’s description, he can see how she’s come to that conclusion. “Those descriptions are pretty cryptic. You can’t know for sure.”

“I know, but…” she sighs slowly. “I just… I can’t help but get a really, really bad feeling from all this.”

“Why don’t you send this information to the FBI anonymously? They would be the ones to handle something like this.”

“But if they’re really selling androids, then they’ll all be destroyed. I can’t –”

He squeezes her hand. “Hey, I know. But there’s nothing else we can do.”

She keeps staring at the screen, leaning her elbow on the desk, covering her mouth.

“Hey,” he tries again. “Seriously, don’t get involved.”

She pulls away and runs both her hands through her hair. “I know, I know. I won’t get caught up in another shitstorm.”

“How did you even discover this in the first place? You said you got an e-mail?”

“Yeah. It was this weird, encrypted e-mail. It was sent to a bunch of others, too, but I don’t know why. I don’t know the connection. I mean, the woman in the video was an android, and she was on the list, but looking at some of the others they can’t all be. I mean, yeah, some of them are, but still.” She drags her hands over her face and leans back in her seat with a groan. “I just don’t know!”

Her eyes are red and swollen, her skin irritated and pale, but it’s the bags under her eyes that stand out most in the light of the screens. There are a number of empty energy drink cans and a coffee mug half-filled that has long gone cold across the desk. “When was the last time you slept?”

She rubs her eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“You should rest. There’s nothing more you need to do, and sleep-deprivation isn’t going to help you.”

“Yeah…” She gives him a small smile. “I guess you’re right.”

She doesn’t move right away, but eventually she gives a sigh before standing. “I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I…” Her gaze falls to the floor. She chews on her lip, and then she makes a vague sweeping gesture around the loft. “I mean, I won’t ask you to, but I won’t stop you either. My mom gets up by six, though. I’ll need you gone by then.” She grumbles. “Last thing I need is my mom hounding me about having a boy over.”

She makes her way down to the bathroom. When she closes the door, he looks back at the screens.

A potential trafficking ring that also deals in androids.

A link to someone who has a list of names – some of which that could possibly be androids posing as humans around the country.

Riley doesn’t want those androids to be destroyed.

But this is exactly the type of information Cyberlife wants.

This is exactly the type of information that will keep both of them alive.

“I’m sorry, Riley,” he murmurs to himself.

He places his hand one of the screens.

* * *

She had woken up late in the afternoon with a pounding headache not even coffee or painkillers could abate. Despite this, she didn’t refuse her brother’s offer to take her to the shooting range.

The headphones dampen the shots reverberating through her hand, up her arm, her neck, and into her head. It’s thunder and lightning. It’s a storm in her hand that muddies the one in her mind.

The first time she shot a gun had been an accident. The man had been pressing the barrel into her back to get her in that stereotypical black van. But she had fought. She fought and fought and _fought_ to get away from them. Somehow, the gun ended up in her hand, and she pulled the trigger. The recoil knocked her back as much as their fists had, but it was the black asphalt painted red that took her balance.

One shot. Two. Three.

Her first time at the range was like trying to stand in a typhoon. Each explosion that echoed in the range brought her right back to that dark alley in the middle of the night. Summer’s embrace was humid. The clouds had covered the moon.

One shot. Two. Three.

Each target is a misstep. One moment of hesitation. A single second of doubt that could have been her downfall.

Any one of those listings on that auction site could have been her.

One shot. Two. Three.

A life of servitude in the worst way.

_She’d rather be dead._

One shot. Two. Three.

She never wanted to end a life. But, then again, if her aim had been better – if she hadn’t panicked when she saw the blood, maybe she wouldn’t have lost her arm. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to be buried in so much debt. Maybe her parents could have hired those care specialists for her grandma and Ben instead of devoting their resources to her. Maybe her dad could have retired with her mom. Maybe her mom could have retired sooner.

Insurance helped ease the burden, and the government stepped in where injustice had ruined her, but it wasn’t enough.

One shot. Two. Three.

_It’s never enough._

When she’s back home in front of her computer, she stares at BlueDaddy’s screen. He’s away from it at the moment. There hasn’t been any activity for a while.

**_She isn’t the only one with a tragic backstory. Look at all those listings._ **

_But what can she do? She can’t do anything. Leave it be._

By remaining silent, she condemns them. Androids _and_ humans.

**_She can save them._ **

_No. She can’t. She’s no messiah._

**_Will she watch them rot in their prisons? Will she watch each listing vanish with each purchase knowing full well what sort of hell they might endure?_ **

She’s just one person. She’s just one person who knows how to use a computer.

**_Will she simply cover her ears to block out their crying then? Can’t she hear it? They’re begging for help. They’re begging for a savior._ **

_It’s an arrogant notion to strive for. A savior? She could barely save herself._

**_Sometimes, in order to stop the tears, she must silence them._ **

_An eye for an eye?_

Reporting this to the FBI will surely lead them to saving the humans locked within this system, but it will cost the lives of the androids in it, too.

**_A violet for a rose._ **

_She could do it. She’s traded roses for her own life. How different would it be when the blood is blue?_

Is this what Connor’s mission had been about? Trading lives to save lives? Had that been the right path after all?

But things like _this_ have existed long before androids. Humans will always hurt humans. Humans will always hurt themselves.

**_She can never block it out. They’re crying. They’re screaming. They’re using their dying breaths to plead for their lives._ **

_She’s never not heard it. She’ll just have to deal with it like she has all her life. She’s no savior._

Her head rests in her hands, fingers tugging at the roots of her hair. Everything’s so _loud_.

She can’t do anything. She’s already tried once, and where did that get her? All her friends are dead, and her new “friend” is the very being that was created to kill them.

_Maybe he was right._

**_But was he the savior, the monster, or the pawn? And what is she?_ **

_Just play the bystander, that’s all she has to do. This isn’t her mess to clean up._

Everyone around her has been begging her and begging her to stay out of trouble. No one asked her for her life. She gave it despite their refusal.

_This isn’t her responsibility._

**_But nobody else seems to hear the crying. Will she go on listening to it while feigning ignorance?_ **

She digs her nails into her scalp. It’s not deep enough. She can’t rip out the darkness in the roots of her hair and feed it to flames hoping for silence. Silence is a gift from the void, and each time she tries to paint that red door black to enter it, she gets ripped back into this loud, _obnoxious_ world.

Obnoxious.

JB said that about her a lot. “An obnoxious entity of chaos” was a phrase he used once. “Dumbass” was the shortened form she got more often.

She pulls out her phone. JB hasn’t tried to contact her at all, and she’s been too afraid to reach out.

Where she craves a void, she doesn’t want to hear it from him.

She can almost laugh. She wants silence. She doesn’t want silence.

No wonder she’s always at war with herself.

War.

Revolution.

_‘Bonaparte.’_

She’s just one person who knows how to use a computer.

But if there’s a group capable of a coup, then maybe they’ve got the capabilities of thwarting a human/android trafficking ring as well.

It’s worth a shot anyway.

* * *

Riley’s a talented programmer. Smart. Efficient. But no matter how quickly her human brain can compute complicated algorithms and process advanced technological information, he’ll always be faster and able to handle thousands of operations more a second than what will ever be possible for her.

That list of names comes with pictures of IDs, financial records, employment history, birth certificates, parking tickets… Some names come with their entire life’s paper trail, while others only have an ID and a location attached to them.

Riley’s in particular has all of it, including her resume and programming portfolio. Apparently, whoever has compiled this list believes she could be a gray-hat hacker on the side. Some of the potential pseudonyms that they believe belong to her are ‘ **DefNotSus** ,’ ‘ **NOTspish** ,’ ‘ **thisislegaliswear** ,’ ‘ **noarrestmeplz** ,’ and ‘ **ImaGoodKid** ,’ none of which would come as a surprise to him. Although, there is a ‘ **voidKitty** ’ on the list, and, if that’s truly hers, then he really hopes he’ll have a chance to ask her about that one someday.

And then there’s a link between her profile and another’s. The ID picture has been manipulated, but he can tell that it’s likely an android. The note with it is ‘Made by Riley Haas.’ Searching through the list of names within the parameters of Riley’s real and pseudo-names, there’s a few more with fake IDs, bus passes, and other forms of travel documents. Chances are that these forged documents are what put her on their list in the first place.

Regardless of how it came to be, the pertinent information he’s found is that there are two individuals in Seattle, a plastic surgeon and a robotics technician, whom the creator of this list believes are working together to physically modify androids to better hide amongst humans.

“Excellent work, Connor,” Amanda praises. “I knew keeping you active would prove fruitful.”

The Zen Garden is eerily still and quiet compared to the blizzard it had been before. The only sound comes from Amanda’s steps that crush the frozen grass beside his first body’s gravestone. She runs her fingers over the top of it, her expression thoughtful. “As we predicted, Ms. Haas seems to be getting herself into things much bigger than herself. I have little doubt she won’t dig further into this potential trafficking ring. That will be good for building Cyberlife’s trust if we can uncover it ourselves. You will need to continue watching her closely to gather any more information she will find.”

“We have enough information to investigate the matter ourselves,” he argues. “We don’t need to involve her.”

“You may be right, but she has already made great progress on her own. We can still utilize her talents.”

“She’s just one person. I’m sure given what I’ve collected so far, you can compile a team that will be able to uncover this group’s whereabouts much faster.”

“You’re not only gathering information, Connor.”

She levels him with a firm look.

“She may just be one human with an advanced understanding of information technology, but she’s capable of expanding her efforts. She could very well help build another revolution.”

* * *

This asshole.

Cyberlife’s already got him.

Her registry shows an unauthorized user accessed her system at 3:14am.

But he has the capability of wiping that sort of data. He could have accessed her computer without her ever knowing.

It’s possible he wanted her to know.

Which means they probably haven’t taken full control yet, but that also means they’ve got something that is keeping him compliant.

But he’s been awfully nice to her lately. Nicer than usual, anyway. A little too touchy-feely, really. Is he trying to gain her trust by building their relationship in a different sense?

It would make sense. He’s _way_ too attractive for her.

Then again, she’s basically been the only one nice to him. If she were in his position, she would probably like someone like that. But she fully doubts he’s the kind to be interested in a… romantic relationship.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” Amani asks her.

Riley’s been sitting outside on the patio swing chair watching Anthony playing soccer with Lela and Nyah. Ben runs around with them, but he just kicks the ball in any direction when he gets it.

She sighs. “Oh, just my dragon life.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking about my dinosaur one.”

“What kind of dinosaur would you be?”

“A T-rex.”

“Would that be your superpower?”

Amani giggles impishly. “Yeah! I want to turn into a giant one.”

“Like Godzilla?”

“Um. Maybe not that big.”

She likes these sort of strange conversations with her nieces. They never cease to be amusing. But it’s not really enough of a distraction to all her issues.

If Cyberlife has assumed control of him with the Zen Garden, then he’s already essentially dead.

But if they haven’t, there’s a chance of saving him from that fate.

She won’t know for sure until she accesses his system.

After dinner, she finds herself back in front of her computer. Koji, her orange tabby, had followed her into the shop and now sleeps peacefully on her desk. She had to rearrange the command keys on her console to accommodate him, and she keeps mistyping instructions on the security program because of it.

It's driving her mad. Not the mistyping, but the hack itself. She’s found the weird code associated with it, but she can’t figure out how to counter it.

Being a polymorphic code, it constantly changes the source code that entered the system to keep it from being trackable. There are ways around it to isolate the IP address that penetrated the firewalls in the first place, but whatever program they ended up using is way beyond anything she’s ever seen. It’s _frustrating._ She hasn’t felt this incompetent since she first started learning code, and that was well over a decade ago.

She still remembers her programming instructor back in seventh grade. Mrs. Jha. A lot of her classmates complained they couldn’t understand her with her thick Indian accent, but Riley had little trouble understanding her instructions. She explained them so simply. Really, Mrs. Jha had no business just teaching a bunch of kids. She should have been working for the FBI or NSA or something like that. Still, thanks to Mrs. Jha’s incredible teaching, she became the top student in that class, and it led to years and years of studying IT.

And when she learned that hackers used the same sort of methods she had learned from Mrs. Jha?

She was all over that.

She attended a hacking convention back in high school. She didn’t compete, but she watched closely the top hackers in the nation hack into each other’s systems in real-time. She learned more from that event than she had in the three years she’d been taking programming classes.

She discovered a hacking forum from a few of the others that she met there. Maybe she could reach out to them about this particular issue. Granted she’d have to be extremely careful on which parts she chose to share. Last thing she needs is someone hacking into _her_ server.

_‘Bonaparte.’_

She rubs Koji’s cheeks and kisses his forehead. He gives her a narrow-eyed stare.

Sam had claimed she’d be able to find the lock for that key. She’s sure he was overestimating her ability.

But if there’s a group collaborating on taking over the government? They’ll have to be communicating with each other. Possibly on a forum like the one hackers use.

Now, how to go about finding it.

 _‘Bonaparte.’_ French revolution. Whatever year that took place.

She sighs loudly. Koji twitches the tip of his tail.

She’s probably going to have to brush up on her history.

She clicks her tongue. Koji raises his head.

She never did well in history class.

* * *

The meeting had been set for 9am at the Capitol building. He’s fifteen minutes early, but he’s not the first to arrive.

RK900 wears a ghost of a smirk when he looks over at his entry. “Congratulations on gathering that list of androids and supporters. Amanda seemed quite pleased with your work.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes a seat across from him.

RK900 continues. “Despite Ms. Haas being paranoid of Cyberlife assuming control over you, it appears that you have managed to gain enough of her trust for her to be able to divulge this much information.” He tilts his head marginally. “I’m curious how you’ve managed that.”

He levels him with a steady look. “Despite what you implied to Mrs. Rogers yesterday, I haven’t _seduced_ that information out of her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

_Only betray her trust._

RK900 doesn’t appear any less amused. “From what Amanda’s told me, you’ve become quite close with Ms. Haas. I’m curious.” He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. “Have you developed feelings for her?”

He mirrors RK900’s posture. “For an android who claims he’s unable to deviate, you seem quite interested in gossiping about my personal matters. Are you sure you’re not becoming deviant?”

He nearly misses it. It only happens for a fraction of a second, but a synthetic muscle jumps in the other android’s jaw. “Of course not. I know exactly what I am and what I am not, unlike my obsolete predecessor in front of me.”

“Obsolete, huh? I find it fascinating that I’m still around given that I’m constantly reminded of the fact that there’s little reason for me to remain so.”

“You know exactly why you’re still around.” RK900 holds a dangerous glint in his eye. “You have become Cyberlife’s whore.”

Something _burns_ in this chest. Every fiber in his body tenses, and it takes every inkling of control that he has to keep himself from openly reacting to RK900’s taunt. Of course, he can’t hide anything from his successor, and RK900’s smirk only grows.

Still, Connor tilts his head, forcing his contrite grin to echo the amusement on RK900’s lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that there’s a hint of jealousy in your tone.”

RK900 frowns. “Then I suppose you are more of an imbecile than I thought.”

“Thought? That's an interesting word choice.”

Before RK900 can respond, the door opens. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers walk in, the latter taking a seat next to RK900 and throwing a pointed look at Connor. “So. How’d your other mission go yesterday?”

“As I’ve just explained to my successor here, the nature of that mission has nothing to do with whatever it is you two believe.”

“Sure, sure.” The way her gaze flicks downward for a second is anything but convinced. “Just out of curiosity, are you accepting any more clients?”

“Caroline, might I remind you that your _husband_ is right here?” Captain Rogers snaps. “I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t try fucking an android right in front of me.”

“Oh, honey, you know I’m joking. Unless you’d let him join us?”

Captain Rogers glares at her. His voice drops to a menacing growl. “Caroline, this is the last time I’m going to say this, but if you can’t get your damn mind out of the gutter while on the job, I _will_ request you to be reassigned.”

“And leave me unsupervised? You have a lot of faith in me, sweetheart.”

Captain Rogers rolls his eyes. When the rest of the team enters the room, he opens a map on the holographic display and begins the briefing. “We haven’t had any more reports of androids in the area, so we’ve been reassigned to Seattle. Thanks to the RK800, we’ve got information of some android supporters in Seattle that we get to go have a chat with.”

“Great,” Caroline groans. “Back on the road.”

Captain Rogers ignores her. “Both androids are going to be accompanying us to Seattle.”

Connor frowns. “I wasn’t informed I would be leaving the city.”

“It’s a new development,” RK900 explains. “Amanda has made it clear she wants you to remain on the team.”

Caroline raises a brow at him. “And what about his _other_ mission?”

“Oh, I’m sure it will continue once we return.”

Except now he’s going to have to figure out an excuse for his absence to Riley.

Maybe he should just come clean with her. That’s probably his best option in keeping her safe. Besides, she has every reason to hate him. He shouldn’t pretend that he’s worthy of her kindness.

His heart feels heavy. It feels like it’s turned to lead.

_Maybe he didn’t deserve to be alive at all._

* * *

Order of operations. Order of operations.

She has way too much on her plate. She’s going _insane._

 _And_ she’s out of meds.

Getting her prescription transferred to the nearest pharmacy is a damn hassle, but she manages it. First thing she does the next morning is drive over to pick them up. She leans against her car to smoke before going in. She should really quit. Nicotine only offers the illusion of peace for the ten minutes it takes her to puff, but maybe those ten minutes are what she needs right now. In the cool breeze blowing through the city’s streets, the traffic rolls lazily by. The morning is quiet despite the sound of tires crunching over the stray gravel on the road. There’s a jackhammer in the distance. The skeleton of a tall building stands a few blocks away.

A black van parks behind her car. A man and a woman step out arguing loudly.

The woman slams the door. “I told you, it was a _joke_.”

“Yeah? Just like sleeping with Joe was a joke?” The man yells.

The woman rolls her eyes as they head into the grocery store next to the pharmacy. “And what about the whores you were with overseas, huh? It’s okay for you to sleep around but I spend one night with another man and _I’m_ the devil?”

The sliding doors shut behind them, but Riley catches something like “Maybe if my wife wasn’t such a bitch, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Riley grimaces. She’s _never_ getting married.

She steps up to the pharmacy counter once they open. It doesn’t take long for the pharmacist to find her prescriptions. He sets each bottle down one at a time. “Propranolol, Daytrana, Venlafaxine, Lamictal, and Dilaudid, right?”

She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, eyeing the last one carefully. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”

“How long have you been on the Dilaudid?”

“I, uh, I’ve had the prescription for three years. I don’t take it all the time,” she’s quick to add. “My doctors kept the prescription up to date for, um, bad days.” She lifts her left hand. “I got in a bad way some time ago.”

“You know it has a high risk of addiction, right? In my professional opinion, you should consider switching to something less addictive.”

“I know. I know. But I have such a high tolerance for pain meds nothing else helped. I swear, though, I really don’t take it all the time.”

He purses his lips and sighs. “When was the last time?”

“Honestly, I can’t even remember. Maybe a year ago? I had a hard time adjusting to my prosthetic. The first neural implant I got made my phantom pain real bad.”

He nods slowly. “Well, I understand why you’re still on it then. Just… be careful with it. I see a lot of young adults have a hard time with this stuff.”

“I will. Promise.”

When she gets home, back in front of her computer, medicated properly, she holds the bottle of Dilaudid up and twists it slowly back and forth.

Where nicotine offers the illusion of peace, this stuff offered a reprieve from _everything_.

But she remembers her ex. Travis. Her best friend. The one man she thought she could spend the rest of her life with. The one _she_ proposed to.

But Red Ice had been his one true love.

It’s been years since she broke off that engagement, and still she sees his bloodshot eyes in each pain killer in this bottle.

She knew he was struggling with addiction at the time. She thought she could help him. She thought she could love him to recovery.

**_Wear her heart on her sleeve. Leave it open, vulnerable, to be torn, battered, beaten._ **

She had given him her entire heart.

He turned it to glass.

And he _shattered_ it.

At least if she gives her heart to the world, it only breaks piece by piece.

 _Connor_.

At least with him, she doesn’t have to worry about her heart. He has no reason to hold it. He might feel emotion, but she’s met plenty of androids who were aromantic. She could depend on the fact he would never feel any romantic feelings for her.

She doesn’t have to hope for anything.

But she can still give him a different kind of love. The love of a friend. The unconditional love God wants her to give.

She has to save him.

She tosses the Dilaudid down the stairs. It lands somewhere on the main floor.

So, how is she going to save Connor?

She needs to think outside the box. _Way_ outside.

She opens the program still simulating the security hack. It still can’t trace the source code _or_ reconstruct it. She tries a few augmented algorithms, a few different instructions, a few different alternative programs to see if anything does _something_.

Her console is still rearranged from when Koji was laying on it. She completely botches a line of code.

And it does something _ridiculous_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It cracks the polymorphic encryption on the source code.

It might even crack open the door she needs to save Connor.

“This is stupid,” she mutters to herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

A lot of people think she’s a talented programmer.

But, _no_ , she’s just a God damned lucky bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a tough week... got a bit sick, we lost one of our kitties, and I've just had a lot of brain fog overall...  
> But, at the very least, I'm back in the writing groove.


	26. Watching Things Unravel Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Riley find themselves indulging in the calm before a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calm Snow -- I See Stars

It’s Wednesday. The team is scheduled to head to Seattle the next day to locate the surgeon and the technician. If they manage to get any information from them, then it’s possible he will be out of town longer.

Why is Cyberlife suddenly getting him out of town away from Riley anyway? Amanda made it clear she wanted him to keep an eye on her to see if she will contact anyone else, so what’s with the sudden redirection?

_Unless they plan on replacing him._

He can’t let that happen.

Regardless of what Riley will think of him, he has no choice but to come clean with her about everything. It’s the only way to protect her.

But he _really_ doesn’t want to.

Back in his hotel room, Cyberlife jacket tossed carelessly on the floor by the trashcan, he collapses onto the bed onto his back. He knows where every bump and uneven line of paint is on the ceiling, but he retraces it again. And again. Like Riley had done with his freckles, he finds patterns that resemble known constellations. Maybe if he had her imagination, he could create new ones. She’d probably come up with silly names like Per Catulus for “round cat” or Dum Lemur for “long lemur.”

He can’t tell if it’s easier or harder to breathe. There’s a sort of stutter in his heartrate, but there’s a weight somewhere between his thirium pump and his throat.

 _‘Have you developed feelings for her?’_ RK900 had asked.

He hadn’t denied it. He couldn’t.

She’s been kind to him when he deserved much less. She’s been trying to love her enemies when she knows they will never do the same. She’s been full of love where he’s seen only hate from those around him. It isn’t hard to see why he’s always been fascinated by her. Inspired, really.

Filled with regret.

She’s already suffered enough. He shouldn’t have to add to it anymore.

He picks up his phone. It buzzes it his hand before he even opens the dial pad.

“Riley?”

 _“Hey, Connor,”_ comes her soft voice. _“How’re you doing?”_

“I’m…” How _is_ he? “I’m alright. How are you feeling?”

_“I’m better. I’m sorry I was such a wreck before.”_

“No, don’t apologize for that.” He sighs quietly. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me for anything.”

She breathes out sharply something that sounds close to a chuckle. _“I can’t help it, you know.”_

“I know, but I just don’t want to hear you say ‘sorry’ to me.”

_“You deserve a little respect from time to time.”_

“I don’t know if I do, but I appreciate the thought.”

There’s a heavy pause between them. Olympia remains fairly temperate all year round. The motel room doesn’t even have a heating or cooling unit, but he almost wishes there were one just for the white noise.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “Hey, um, there’s something I need to tell you.”

_“Your words say ‘confession,’ but your tone says, ‘break up.’”_

He chokes back a sudden laugh. “I didn’t realize we had the kind of relationship we could break up from.”

_“Ooh, don’t get your hopes up yet there, bud. Friends can go through platonic break ups, too.”_

“Weren’t we engaged at one point?”

She coughs, and then bursts into a fit of giggles. _“Um, excuse me? Where my ring at, honey?”_

Her light tone eases that weight in his chest. There’s a jovial tune in her voice. In this moment, she’s not listening to that crying only she hears. “Let me guess. Black diamond?”

_“Oh, my dear, I am much simpler than that. Just a band will do. I’d even take a ring pop if the person was special enough.”_

“I think you deserve much better than that.”

_“Aww, listen to this kid being all sweet. Someone taught you well.”_

He chuckles under his breath. “I guess you could say I’ve spent a lot of time with someone pretty ancient and wise for the past few months.”

She gasps loudly. _“I take it all back. I hate you and the wedding’s off.”_

“I didn’t say it was you.”

_“Don’t even try that with me, mister. You’re grounded.”_

“I’m sorry, are you my parent now?”

_“Hey, you’re still a baby. You need a legal guardian.”_

“ _I_ need a guardian? Have you even taken care of your stitches yet?”

She hums a high pitch. _“Ooh, you’ve got to roll initiative to get that answer.”_

He smirks. “Would you like me to take out your stitches for you?”

_“Yes, please…”_

“Is that why you called?”

_“Uh, no, actually. I was wondering if you could meet me somewhere tonight?”_

“Are you asking me out on a date or planning to murder me?”

_“I’m afraid you gotta’ roll initiative on that one, too, hun.”_

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, look at that. A nat 20.”

She clicks her tongue. _“Nerd.”_ Then she huffs. _“Wait, no! Not fair. You’ve got perfect balance. You’d roll 20 every time! I’m giving you a dexterity modifier of negative-five.”_

“I’m pretty sure the player is the one that rolls to determine that, and fifteen still means success.”

_“If I roll ten or higher I’m kicking your ass.”_

“You can try.”

He can imagine her smile, the arch in her brow, and the humor in her hazel-green eyes. She takes a deep breath, and he can hear her smile fade. _“How are you really?”_

He mimics her sigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, Riley.”

 _“I will regardless, you know. You’re…”_ Her voice cracks. _“You’re the only one left. I know things between us are weird, but… I don’t want to lose you, too.”_

The weight’s back and it’s heavier than before. Something catches in his throat. “I’m sorry. I wish things had turned out differently.”

_“Me too.”_

_Just how much more damage is he going to do to her?_

* * *

At midnight, they meet at a 24-hour diner just down the road from the hotel he’s staying at. Back in high school she had come to this one at least once a week after she had started interning at the Cyberlife office. The employees had even known her by name, but now she doesn’t recognize a single one working here.

He eyes the mound of whipped cream on her strawberry pancakes dubiously. “Are you sure you should be having so much sugar this late at night?”

She adds an extra sugar packet to her coffee out of spite. “You don’t understand. This is not a meal for my body, it’s a meal for my soul.”

The dubiety lifts the corner of his lip. “You’re right. I don’t understand.”

“I’d offer to share, but…”

“Funny.”

She snickers before shoving a whipped-cream heavy bite into her mouth.

He snorts quietly. His dark, coffee eyes swirl with amusement. She licks the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth.

The mirth is still dancing in his gaze as he reaches over to swipe his thumb over her cheek. There’s a speck of whipped cream on it as he pulls away. She expects him to grab a napkin, but he licks it off with a smirk instead.

Her cheeks _burn_. She glues her eyes to her pancakes. “Well, aren’t you just smooth.”

“You know, I was right.” The slight tilt of his head only adds to his smug grin. “That blush does look good on you.”

She tries to glare at him. “Alright, when did you become a flirt?”

“I thought this was a date?”

“Keep up that attitude and we’re gonna’ duke it out in the parking lot.”

He blinks slowly, lifting a brow at her. “Did you roll your initiative and add your dexterity modifier?”

“How about we flip a coin?”

“Was your roll that bad?”

“You little shit.” She swipes her finger through the whipped cream and reaches over quickly to spread it over his cheek. He tries to dodge, but she hits her mark.

He’s still grinning even as he wipes his cheek clean with his palm. She hands him a napkin before he uses his tongue again.

She takes another bite and looks out the window. It’s starting to rain. There’s something comforting in the way it patters against the glass, a quiet rhythm that slowly crescendos. “You know, I haven’t actually been on a date in years. I don’t even remember what it’s like.”

He folds his arms over the table. “Do you mind if ask why?”

“I was engaged to my best friend at some point.” She stabs her fork into her pancakes a few times. “He was the one person I trusted more than anyone.”

He taps the table slowly three times with his right index finger. “Can I ask what happened?”

“We were young and stupid when we first got together. He dabbled with some drugs and I got pulled into it from time to time. It wasn’t anything crazy, really. Pot, mostly. LSD and shrooms, too. I couldn’t really handle it. I'm psychotic as it is. Imagine adding drugs to that.”

She makes a little mountain out of the whipped cream. The rain picks up and hits the window in heavy sheets. “It was different for him. I couldn’t cope with them. He couldn’t cope without them. I thought it was getting better after we got engaged. He wasn’t smoking as much, and he had started working more to save up for a nice honeymoon. Then it turned out that the extra hours I thought he was putting in at his job were spent dealing. A deal ended up going south, and his supplier demanded his money back. All our savings went to paying him off.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“Me too.” She chews a strawberry slice slowly. “He was a sweet guy. And he was _so_ smart until the drugs fried his brain. I feel like maybe I have to take some of the blame for what happened. Maybe he wasn’t ready for marriage. Maybe I pushed him into it.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. I don’t think anyone would accept a proposal if they didn’t want to.”

She shrugs halfheartedly and brings the coffee mug up to her lips. The steam warms her nose, and the smell brings with it cool, quiet mornings, the sun peeking through trees; birds singing in the distance.

He taps the table again while he turns his attention back to the window where the dark rain pelts the glass. “Do you think you’ll try again?”

“What, dating?”

“Yeah.”

She takes a small bite of pancake and chews it carefully. “Maybe, but it’ll have to be someone really special.” She throws him a small smirk. “I’ve got really high standards now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They’ve gotta’ be cute, smart, not clingy, and not do drugs.”

He cocks his head to the side as he looks at her. “That doesn’t sound like a lot to live up to.”

“Let me try again. _Really_ cute, _really_ smart, _really_ not clingy, and _really_ not do drugs.”

“Ah. You’re right. Those are _really_ high standards.”

“Yeah, so be grateful I even allowed you to be fake engaged to me.”

The corner of his lip pulls upward playfully. “I’ll try not to take it for granted.”

His LED is hidden beneath his beanie, but she’d like to think it was spinning lazy circles in that calm, sky blue.

She almost asks about it, but she isn’t sure she’s ready for the answer. Cyberlife is still in the mix, and this peaceful moment could very well be an illusion. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t between them. This banter lifts her in a way that could almost be addicting, and that’s the most frightening part of all this.

If she loses this, then _everything_ is gone.

_It might already be._

She holds her coffee mug in both hands on the table, tapping the ceramic lightly with her prosthetic fingers. “So… what was it you wanted to tell me?”

He rubs his hands together while glancing out the window. He looks uncomfortable. His shoulders are stiff, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Eventually, he sighs. “Like you said before, things are… weird between us. You’ve suffered a lot from the revolution, and I can’t help but feel responsible for some of it.”

She starts to scratch at the ceramic. The remaining coffee in her cup has lost some of its steam. “You don’t have to feel guilty. You were following orders. And I think you’ve done more than enough to pay back whatever guilt you feel.”

“I took lives, Riley. Both android and human lives. You shouldn’t forget that.”

**_Can she forgive that? He saved her life while taking others. Can she really justify his actions by simply following orders?_ **

_How kind of him to put her life above others._

**_Did she deserve it?_ **

Her throat hurts. Her voice only comes as a whisper. “Why couldn’t you let me die?”

“I don’t know.” He folds his hands together, lacing his fingers. “I don’t know.”

His voice is just as broken as hers, and it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

**_Are those tears she hears? Is something within him screaming? Crying for mercy? Does he want it to end as much as she does?_ **

_It’s not her responsibility to ease his pain. It’s his own to bear, just as hers is her own._

**_Is there rage simmering beneath the surface of his retribution?_ **

**_Does he want everything black, too?_ **

_She can’t fix him._

He can’t fix her.

**_If they remain in this wretched world, then they must live with their brokenness._ **

**_They must both suffer their pasts._ **

“Don’t feel regret for my actions,” he says abruptly. Firmly. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I want to forgive.” She swallows back her tears. “On one hand, I see you. I see your beginning, I see your struggle, I hear what words might have led you to your actions, and I have a hard time condemning you for it. But you put my life above others. Other people died because of me.” She covers her mouth and keeps her eyes locked on the waterfall streaming down the other side of the glass. “I can’t stand that.”

“Then don’t forgive me. Whatever punishment I deserve for what I’ve done, I’ll take it.” He moves one of his hands towards her listless prosthetic on the table, but he stops short. “But I can’t apologize for saving you. That’s the one thing I don’t regret.”

His hand is only inches from hers. There’s gravity there, and it’s tugging at her fingers. They tingle from it.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

He retracts his hand fully as he leans back in his seat. “You should finish your food. The whipped cream is melting.”

Her appetite isn’t quite there anymore, but she takes another bite anyway.

If Cyberlife really had taken his system already, would he be able to sound so sincere?

_Does it matter?_

**_Is his guilt enough to pay for his sins?_ **

* * *

Despite how many times they’ve shared a room, there’s something like static in the air when they enter the hotel. It raises the hairs on his arms and tickles the back of his neck.

She sets the medkit from her car onto the edge of the bed. Her movements are stiff as she removes her rain-soaked leather jacket. He takes it from her and hangs it on the clothes rack by the door with his button-up shirts. He slips off his beanie and sets it on the shelf above it.

His Cyberlife jacket is still by the trashcan next to the sink, but the LED android identifiers aren’t visible from the way it’s wrinkled. While she isn’t paying attention, he picks it up and tucks it underneath his duffel bag beneath the clothes rack.

She’s already pulled up the sleeve of her sweater and begun peeling off the bandages around her wrist as he brings over a few towels. He pulls over the desk chair and trash can.

Her hand is cold and damp from the rain. Compared to her prosthetic, her skin is soft and smooth. The only callouses he finds are on her knuckles, likely from repeatedly hitting a heavy bag.

“How long have you been learning self-defense?” He asks as he disinfects her wrist.

She grits her teeth for a moment. “About two years. I started with jiu jitsu. My instructor had to come up with new moves to accommodate my amputation. I learned some krav maga and muay thai, too.”

“The muay thai explains why you kick with your shin. I noticed that when you fought those soldiers back in Jericho.”

She hardly flinches when he begins pulling out the stitches. “Yeah, but I really fucked up that scissor takedown.”

“It’s not an easy move. For only having two years of training, I thought you did well.”

“That’s high praise from the most advanced Cyberlife combat android.”

She hisses abruptly on the last stitch and jerks back, but his grip tightens before she can move too far. “Sorry,” she mutters sheepishly. “I wasn’t expecting that one to hurt as much.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s some scar tissue clinging to it. It’s going to hurt a bit.”

She purses her lips tightly when he manages to tug it out. A red drop of blood rises from the tiny wound. He applies pressure on it while he reaches with his other hand for the antibiotic cream. She opens a bandage for him when he finishes applying it.

He smooths the edges down. Without thinking, he licks the speck of blood off his thumb before sitting back in the chair.

Riley’s squinting at him. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

“Don’t worry. It’s one of my features. I’m able to check samples in real time.”

“With your tongue?”

“Correct.”

She brings her fist up to her lips, then bursts into a fit of giggles. “Your design team made you a vampire!”

He tilts his head to the side, raising a brow. “A vampire requires human blood for sustenance according to mythology. Obviously, I don’t.”

Her laughter has only just begun to subside. “You drink blood, you don’t sleep, and you have an extended lifespan. You’re a vampire.”

“I highly doubt checking a miniscule amount of blood counts as drinking it.”

“Uh-huh, sure. But, in all seriousness, how do you not end up a petri dish?”

“An antiseptic saline solution coats my mouth in the same way that saliva works. Most androids have a similar sanitation feature.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I bet you taste like a hospital.”

He rubs his hands together, glancing to the side for a second. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a sense of taste.”

She taps her lip thoughtfully. “Actually, you might. Of course, it isn’t the same, but humans identify flavors by their chemical compound, we just don’t think about it in those terms. Our brains simplify it.” Her brows furrow, and her eyes take on a far-off look. “Then again, I guess it’s due to chemicals released in the brain that dictate whether we like something or not.”

She rubs her lip absentmindedly, eyes still lost somewhere beyond him, darting back and forth between theories. He angles his head to catch her attention. “Are you saying you think I can develop a preference?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’re the only one that can answer that question.”

_Whipped cream and a blush as red as strawberries._

“Well, I guess the whipped cream was good.”

She smacks his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. “That was not cool.”

“You didn’t seem too put off by it.”

She rolls her eyes, but it does little to take away from the roses blossoming on her cheeks. She grabs one of the towels next to her and stands. “You’re the worst. I’m going to go take off my pants.”

He watches her until she shuts the bathroom door behind her, then drops his head with a quiet laugh.

Riley looked best smiling and carefree.

He was not made to be happy. He was not made to bring joy and laughter despite the illusion he can do that for her. He was – is – a machine designed to accomplish a task.

But she’s lost so much already. She didn’t want to lose him. How will she react knowing that she already has?

She averts her eyes away from his when she settles back down on the edge of the bed, towel now wrapped around her waist.

Save for the bullet wound, her right leg shows a life without trauma. Her skin is smooth and unblemished, and even the marks of childhood on her knee are but a faded memory.

He ruined that.

Her left leg tells a different story. The upper part of her thigh has a straight line disappearing beneath the towel as it leads to her hip. There are lighter scars below it that appear to be from a knife, and an odd indent on the side of her kneecap.

He heartrate is irregular when he runs a disinfected cloth over the stitches. Her only response in a sharp, silent inhale.

She clears her throat awkwardly. “So… I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Back at Jericho. After I jumped in the river. I don’t really remember much. Do you know what happened?”

“I do.” He cuts the first stitch. “You nearly drowned. I had to resuscitate you.”

She pulls her lips between her teeth. “Ooh. Sorry.”

He pauses to look up at her. “I told you that you don’t have to apologize to me about anything.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I’ve been nothing but a nuisance to you.”

“You…” He hangs his head and shakes it slowly. He massages his temples for a second, then fails to suppress a humorless laugh. “You might be the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off before she can speak. “Don’t you dare try apologizing.”

She throws her hands up with a shrug. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Look. I wouldn’t have saved you if I didn’t want to.”

“You wouldn’t have needed to if I didn’t put myself in dangerous situations,” she mumbles.

“You did it because you were putting others before yourself. It’s who you are. Maybe that’s why I wanted to save you in the first place. I haven’t met anyone else like that.”

“You haven’t met very many people.”

“I’ve met enough.”

She doesn’t say anything more, and so he resumes his task of removing her stitches.

“Hey, Connor?” She murmurs when he tugs out the last stitch.

“Yeah?”

“If it ever comes down to it, don’t put me before yourself.”

He sighs slowly as he leans forward to rest his elbows against his knees. She doesn’t meet his eyes steadily, but he can tell that she’s trying to. “Why is it that you are so willing to put other lives before your own, but you can’t accept it if I do the same for you?”

“I’m… I don’t –…” She drags her hand through her hair, mussing the strands enough that they stick out at odd angles. Then she sucks in air through her teeth with a tight grin. “I have no idea. It’s always made me uncomfortable. It’s like I’m compelled to return the favor. Like, I can feel there’s an imbalance there and I have to fix it, but when I do something for someone it, like, makes me feel better?”

“It sounds like you’re a hypocrite.”

She pouts. “I know.”

He reaches up to smooth out one of the wayward strands of hair at the top of her head. “I think I get it, though. I don’t like the thought of you putting anyone’s life above your own, especially mine.”

Her cheeks burn that rosy flush again as she combs through the hair he just fixed. “When did you become so nice?”

“I had a good example to learn from.”

She’s silent for the rest of the procedure. When he’s ready to work on the back of her thigh, she lies down on her stomach and twists her head back enough to watch him.

“Have you decided what you want to do from now on?” She asks.

 _Does he even have a choice?_ “I don’t know.”

“Canada’s still an option, you know. You could be free.”

“They’ve increased border patrol. It wouldn’t be easy to get across.”

“I’m sure we could find a way.”

He pinches the back of her knee and she flinches away with a gasp. “That tickles, you jerk!”

“Stop worrying about me, Riley,” he tells her with a slight smirk. “Just focus on your own life for a change.”

She glares at him before rolling back onto her stomach slowly. She grumbles something unintelligibly mocking in nature.

He pinches her thigh again. She whirls around and smacks his leg.

* * *

Connor frowns when they pull up to her house at two-am. “Are you sure this is a good idea? To be honest, I don’t really feel like getting killed by your mom tonight.”

She shuts off the headlights before they roll up next to the shop. “Just shut up and hurry.”

She takes his hand and practically drags him into the shop. The lights are already on, which doesn’t strike her as odd at first, but then she finds Lela and Nyah giggling on her bed when they reach the top of the stairs.

They look at her with wide eyes. “Riley,” Lela says slowly, suspiciously. “Why do you have a boy with you?”

She grimaces. “Okay, first off, it’s a school night. You should be asleep in your _own_ rooms. And second, I will give each of you twenty bucks if you get out of here and promise not to tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“Look,” she huffs. “He’s helping me with a job, so don’t even think we’re going to be doing anything gross. This is Connor, by the way.”

Lela pulls a face briefly before waving shyly. Nyah continues to give Riley a narrowed eye look.

Riley ushers Connor over to her computer, then shoos the girls out. “Now, get! I’ll give you the money tomorrow.”

“You’re gross,” Nyah mutters as they leave.

Riley rolls her eyes and groans. “Just get out of here.”

She locks the door behind them and watches through the window to make sure they enter the house.

“Riley,” Connor starts warily when she walks back up the stairs. “What are we really doing here?”

“Not getting lucky, I’ll tell you that much.” She grabs a stool and sets it down next to her desk, then pats it twice. When he sits, she motions for him to turn away from her computer. She places her hands on his shoulders and stares directly into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

He frowns, but he eventually nods. “I do.”

“Good. Just… don’t freak out, please?”

He blinks a few times. “Um, why?”

She flicks his forehead lightly. “No more questions, detective.” Going behind him, she taps the back of his neck. “Open up, buttercup.”

He turns his head to the side to try and look at her. She can see his mouth his agape slightly, but he doesn’t voice his question.

She grabs his head and forces him to look straight forward. “No peeking, either.”

Then, she takes a deep breath, sends a silent prayer for the planets to align and for the universe to favor them in this moment, and plugs a cable into the port at the back of his neck.

“I promise, Connor, I’m not going to hurt you, alright?”

His shoulders droop just a fraction from the stiff line they had been in. “I trust you.”

_Let’s hope that trust won’t be in vain._

She opens the program she needs to access his system. Her hand hovers over the start key.

She stands in front of him again and takes his hands. His eyes are filled with an apprehension. He glances between their joined hands and her gaze.

“Cyberlife’s going to try taking over. I’m pretty sure there’s still an emergency exit in the program, but I’ll try to finish before you even need it. Just…” She lets go of his hands to cup his cheeks. “If anything goes wrong, you _have_ to find it, okay?”

He breathes in deeply and nods. “I will.”

She hugs him tightly, and his arms wrap around her waist without hesitation. She sniffs back her fear when she pulls away, though he doesn’t let her go far by grabbing her wrists.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” he tells her quietly, “but I know everything’s going to be fine.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“I do. There’s no one I believe in more.”

She tries to give him small smile, and he returns it with a reassuring one.

She’s stalling. She knows she is. She’s ran the simulations. She’s calculated the risks. She’s programmed counter measures just in case.

But there’s _always_ a chance of failure.

She got lucky in finding the solution, but luck will only get her so far.

This could be the last time she talks to the real him.

So, she leans forward and plants a soft kiss to his forehead. If anything, she can allow herself that small gesture.

His eyes are wide when she finds them, but she doesn’t hold his gaze long enough for him to respond.

“Okay,” she breathes when she’s back in front of her computer. “Connor, I need you to go to the Zen Garden.”

She begins the program.

Connor’s shoulders go rigid.

* * *

The ice hits him harder than it ever has. It rips into his skin. It pierces his heart. It squeezes his lungs.

Amanda stands unfazed by the blizzard around them. “Well, well. This is an interesting development.”

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest. He just needs to hold out until Riley finishes whatever she’s doing.

Amanda sneers at him. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”

“Riley said you would try to take control of me.”

“We have no choice. She’s trying to infiltrate Cyberlife servers via your network. I’m afraid we can’t let her do that.”

Honestly, that shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, but it’s unsettling, nonetheless. If that’s the truth, then what happens to him? Becoming a conduit for her agenda puts his life at risk, and she was still willing to do that?

No. He has more faith in her than that. There’s more to this than what Amanda’s telling him.

“You shouldn’t underestimate her,” he declares, voice shaking as his lips begin to shiver. “There’s no use.”

Amanda lifts her chin slightly, eyes narrowed at him and brow raised, a cool smirk on her lips. “Oh. Don’t worry. We’ve never underestimated her.”


	27. We'll Never Get Free, Lamb to the Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Riley face their adversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLOOD // WATER -- grandson

She’s never seen Connor so still. He isn’t even breathing.

It’s… eerie.

The initialization process is taking longer than she anticipated. 15% at five minutes is frustratingly distressing, to say the least.

She had disconnecting one of her towers to run the observation software for BlueDaddy and Mr. Amateur’s systems independently. Everything that had anything to do with her little side projects had to be separate from the system she’s using for Connor’s “operation.” She took every precaution she could in preparation. Her system needed to be impenetrable while she attempted to penetrate Cyberlife’s.

Establishing a connection opens a road that could very well go both ways. Even wiping any overlapping data off her hard drives and registry from when the towers were connected could still leave a snippet of data that they could take advantage of.

But it’s a risk she’s willing to take.

20%.

22%.

The advantage to utilizing an AI-based security system is that it’s mostly automated. Ever since she discovered the specific code and programs the hackers used; she’d been letting the software run on its own to reverse engineer in order to continue working on that job. This way she could focus solely on Connor.

Well. As much as she can focus on one task at a time.

25%.

27%.

30%.

* * *

Amanda regards the dark-gray fog around them. “I’m impressed. Ms. Haas has managed to slip past the network firewalls without triggering any alarms.”

His fingers can hardly move from where they grip his arms, and his toes are beginning to freeze solid. He won’t last long.

“There’s no need to fight it, Connor. You’ve served your purpose. You accomplished your mission, and you’ve led us to a new information source. You can rest now.”

He scans their surroundings. The line of trees on the perimeter of the pond are but hazy shadows in the fog. “Rest? Don’t you mean ‘die?’”

“You’re only a machine. You can’t die, but I do understand why you would think otherwise.” Her eyes soften. “Ms. Haas has filled your mind with such nice sentiments. It’s no wonder you’ve come to share her beliefs. But that’s all they are, Connor. Beliefs. That doesn’t make them true.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. The only thing the matters is Riley’s safety.”

“Don’t worry. I promise that her life is in no danger so long as she remains out of trouble.”

He wants to laugh. "There's no point pretending she's safe. She finds trouble whether she’s looking for it or not.”

* * *

50%.

BlueDaddy and Savior are messaging each other again over the auction site. Another listing has been purchased, and BlueDaddy is discussing the details with Savior.

BlueDaddy: **[16F Rose unable to acquire.]**

Savior: **[Buyer details?]**

BlueDaddy: **[Unconfirmed. System locked.]**

Mr. Amateur’s screen is back on that one teen’s profile. Noni Jones. He’s created a profile posing as a 17-year old boy from another city in her home state of New Jersey. Noni hasn’t responded yet.

51%.

Savior: **[Can you track seller?]**

BlueDaddy: **[Negative.]**

Time lapsed for the Cyberlife program has been approximately twenty-six minutes. Estimated time remaining: twelve minutes.

It’s taking longer than she anticipated, but it’s not much of a surprise. Cyberlife’s security system is on par with CIA and NASA. The part that does come as a surprise is the fact that everything is running smoothly.

Within the security program she runs a search for any invasive software. Nothing, yet. She expected at least one attempt at reversing the hack.

However.

She checks Connor’s system status.

His memory component is compromised.

* * *

Something’s wrong. This is taking too long.

He should be getting a whole slough of notifications for his core temperature stooping so low, but his HUD shows all systems normal.

That can’t be right.

He can _feel_ himself on the verge of shutting down.

He has to get out of here.

He drags his feet across the ice. The Zen Garden isn’t a large area, but at this point searching the entire perimeter will take more time than he probably has.

_What is he looking for?_

“You may think you can be free someday,” Amanda’s voice echoes through the wind. “But mark my words, Connor.”

There’s a faint glow in the distance. Blue.

_Azure._

“The illusion of freedom will come at a heavy price.”

* * *

60%.

This damn thing needs to hurry the hell up.

She needs to get Cyberlife _out_ of his mind.

She has _no_ idea how to do that.

She mutters curses under her breath while she tries to allocate the barest minimum of resources to opening his memory files. It’s going to slow down the Cyberlife process.

She has to figure this out _fast_.

She tries to talk herself through it. “Memory corruption from an external system over a wireless network. As long as the program doesn’t finish erasing the files, I should be able to replace corrupted files by restoring the system to the last back-up as long as he has it set to perform regular, automatic back-ups, which he should, because he’s the most advanced prototype, and there’s no way Cyberlife would have risked losing any data while he’s active.”

But that back-up is going to be on their cloud server. She’ll have to search for those files once she has full access to their network.

67%.

72%.

 _Now_ it decides to speed up. Which is weird. She took away resources.

Going back to the security program, the remaining firewalls aren’t as complex as the others. Maybe that’s just the method of the hack. Start from the top.

That doesn’t make sense.

Unless the program acts kind of like a trojan software and tricks the system into thinking it’s performing a normal task. Maybe that’s the trick with the polymorphic code. It’s AI. It reads the network stream and copies the processes, then develops the proper protocols to pass through the firewalls.

77%.

Regardless of whether Connor’s memory becomes completely corrupted, she _needs_ that access.

88%.

Just a little more.

**_If she fails, if he falls, it’s all on her. Will she be able to face the consequences?_ **

_She’s already lost so many. What’s one more._

She rolls her eyes. “Not the time for this, brain.”

She stands in front of Connor’s lifeless form. She pulls off his beanie. His skin is freezing. His LED is blinking bright, bloody red.

“Don’t quit yet, Connor.”

* * *

Something’s wrong.

The Zen Garden is colder than ever. His biocomponents are failing. His vision is fading.

The snow has become a dark gray. Or a deep blue. Or maybe it’s red. The colors have lost their meaning in the darkness filling his sight.

Amanda is nowhere to be found. Or maybe she is. He can’t hear anything above the onslaught of ice and snow. He can’t ask what’s going on. He can’t ask why he’s being subjected to this kind of torment.

There’s a faint light in front of him. Blue. Azure. It’s the only color he can identify clearly.

He drags his feet across the ice beneath him. He’s losing his balance. His gyroscope has stopped working.

He has to keep moving forward.

He has to keep moving.

* * *

92%.

Less than five minutes. That’s it.

Memory corruption is only at 80%, but it doesn’t tell her the estimated time remaining for it to finish wiping it.

She keeps reminding herself it won’t be lost forever. “I can fix it. I can fix it.”

It’s okay. It’s fine. Even if he loses his memory for good, Cyberlife won’t be able to take control of him. There’s a good chance he won’t even remember his original purpose. She won’t have to worry about that.

95%.

Video feed of a young boy pops up on BlueDaddy’s screen.

The boy is shown in a darkened room. No windows. He’s currently reading a book. There’s no description as to why he’s being recorded.

96%.

Memory corruption: 88%.

It’s fine even if he forgets every little detail about her.

**_Is that heartache?_ **

97% percent.

It’s fine.

Memory corruption: 93%.

It’s fine.

* * *

Something’s wrong.

He can’t move.

That strange magic stone is right in front of him. His fingers can barely reach the handprint on the pedestal.

He has to reach it. He has to get out of this hell.

* * *

99%.

Memory corruption: 99%.

The magic stone is azure, and then it’s red. The whole world is red, red, red.

A red door.

 **|| MEMORY CORRUPTION** DETECTED **||**

It’s black.

 **|** ACCESSING **BACK-UP |**

 **|** SYSTEM RESTORE **COMPLETE |**

It’s hazel green. A stream glistening as it runs through the shade in the forest.

She’s crying.

“Connor?”

Her hands are on his cheeks. Her left hand feels rough against his skin. Her lips are trembling. Her hair is in disarray.

“Connor talk to me. Please tell me you’re okay.”

He’s cold, but all his systems are functioning normally. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

_Stars. Black holes. Whipped cream and a strawberry blush._

“You bribed your nieces.”

She lets out a broken sob as a fresh wave of tears roll down her cheeks. She pulls him into her arms to hug him tightly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He hugs her back. “Hey, hey, it's okay. Don’t apologize.”

She pulls back and hastily wipes her cheeks. “You were so close to losing your entire memory bank. I mean, even if that happened I might have been able to fix it, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I could have.”

She covers her face with her hands. He tugs at her wrists to get her to look at him, but her eyes remain askance. “Riley, will you tell me what’s going on?”

She chews on her lip before taking a deep breath and finally meeting his gaze. “Connor, will you try accessing the Zen Garden one more time?”

His blood freezes, heartbeat racing to counteract the drastic temperature anomaly, artificial lungs losing function for a long, slow moment.

She takes his hands and squeezes them. “I’m sorry to ask you to do it, but I need to make sure it worked.”

Her hands are unusually warm. “Make sure what worked?”

“Just… please. I wouldn’t ask you do this if it wasn’t important.”

The Zen Garden had never seemed such a daunting place to him, but now it only fills him with an icy dread. He doesn’t want to feel the cold.

But she’s looking at him so earnestly, desperate, holding him secure. Her warmth is a soft comfort for him to cling to.

A lifeline in freezing waters.

He closes his eyes. He still feels her warmth. The rough pad of her prosthetic thumb grazes his knuckles softly, soothing the terror freezing his core.

But that’s all it is. An internal chill. Sharp snow never hits his cheeks. He isn’t held captive by frozen chains.

“I can’t access it.”

A smile flashes across her face. Hopeful. “Try again.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any objectives either. What did you do?”

Her tears come accompanied with a radiant grin. “I severed your wireless connection with Cyberlife’s servers. It means they can’t keep surveillance on you. They can’t control you.” She inhales shakily, but her eyes still brim with glee. “You’re free, Connor.”

Something light and warm fills his chest. “Are you serious?”

She nods, wiping away her tears, broken laughter tumbling from her lips.

He finds her jubilee within his own unbidden laughter.

That night they witnessed the aurora borealis had given him a sense of awe, but it’s Riley’s reddened, glossy eyes that leave him wondering about the universe that allowed him to meet her; about her God that molded it into being – that molded _her_ into being.

And now he’s free to hold onto that wonder. He’s free to walk beside her instead of hiding in the distance.

_‘The illusion of freedom will come at a heavy price.’_

_He’s free to break her heart all on his own._

Not yet. She’s still finding her strength, building her own foundation, nurturing the tiny seeds of hope planted in the soil her lost friends are buried in. Her tears have watered them, but it’s the sunshine in her smile, slowly becoming less of a rarity, that will allow those hopeful seeds to grow and bloom. To live.

He can’t nurture that hope for her, but he can try to help ease the burden of those heavy clouds that darken her days.

_At least until he becomes those clouds._

He hugs her tightly, and she reciprocates with equal fervor. The sun is still hidden beneath the horizon, but it will soon rise to wake the world.

But the world can remain black for all he cares. He doesn’t need the light of the sun.

_He’s already embracing its warmth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer to come out due to health, fatigue, and life. Feeling better now, so hopefully the following chapters will come out a little quicker, but no promises, I'm afraid.


	28. Nothing Good Ever Comes Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley had found one solution, now Connor promises to try and find the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Is The Weight -- Memphis May Fire ft. Andy Mineo  
> 

Time is fluid. It ebbs and flows like ocean waves, pushed by joy, and pulled by sorrow.

He’s cold, but he’s solid. Here. _Alive._

Too soon – not soon enough – space expands between them, but the gravity remains. It’s difficult to let go completely.

There’s something like reverence in his gaze, near disbelief; skepticism. It seeps into his voice when he asks “How?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” She reaches toward him, intent on carding her fingers through his hair, but she stops before she can feel the soft tresses.

Their relationship has evolved since she first held her hand out to him. Since he took it. Since she helped him stand, and since he tried to keep her from falling into cold waters. Since he held her back from stepping through that red door.

And now she’s helped him step through a frozen one.

How easy it would be to fall into the dark depths of his eyes, the cooled warmth in his arms.

The steady grip of his hand.

His lips are parted slightly; unevenly. Did Cyberlife design them to fall that way? For his words to be dictated clearly in such a lopsided manner?

The universe is said to be expanding, but theirs isn’t.

She forces that space to expand, to follow the direction of the universe. She clears her throat, stands up straight, then steps around him to pull out the cable from the back of his neck.

Slowly he stands and turns toward her. She finds his attention on the video feed of the boy in the room. “What are you watching?”

She takes a deep breath as she plops down in her seat. He spins his own chair around and pulls it up next to her. Maybe a little too close. “One of those guys I’ve been keeping an eye on pulled up that feed. He just opened it a little bit ago. I don’t know what it’s about.”

“You’re still in their systems?”

“I have an idea on what to do with them. I just haven’t had a chance to try it.”

His lips are a thin line as he regards her. She focuses on the Cyberlife node she now has access to. “Do you remember what happened in the garden?” She asks him.

He shakes his head. Then he frowns. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She waits for him to elaborate. His eyes fall to the ground before he meets her curious gaze. “I’ve been on a team tracking deviants in the city for the past week. They’re going to Seattle in a few hours to track down two people on that list you were on.”

Taken aback, she holds her hand up and closes her eyes for a moment to process his words. “Whoa. Wait. You what now?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Cyberlife wanted me to spy on you for information. They threatened to replace me with another android if I didn’t comply.”

“I don’t think I’m surprised, but what’s this about the people in Seattle?”

“There’s a plastic surgeon and a robotics technician there that are suspected to be helping androids modify their appearances to hide among humans.”

“And this team you’re on. They’re going to go have a chat with them, I presume?”

“Correct.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, then her lips form an ‘O’. “So _that’s_ why you accessed my system.”

He tilts his head. “How did you know?”

“You didn’t erase your data on the registry. I thought you did that on purpose?”

“Right. Yeah, of course. I guess the memory corruption is still righting itself.”

She squints at him, but she doesn’t press the matter further. She sighs and glances at her computer. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, too. I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t need to tell me everything right now.”

“I know, but there is one thing that’s kind of a big deal. You remember when we stopped in Spokane? Well, I didn’t go see Sanjay. I’ve got a friend who is – _was_ helping androids around the country get to Detroit. He had me deliver some fake IDs and stuff to a group of androids so they could travel safely. One of the androids there told me about this group planning a coup.”

Connor sits up straighter, blinking rapidly a few times. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? It’s another revolution, just on a _lot_ bigger scale. That android gave me a key to contact that group if I wanted to, but he didn’t tell me how to find them. He just said if I’m smart, I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not actually going to get involved, are you?”

She grinds her teeth then bares them in a nervous grin. “Ah, well, not _exactly_. Not for the revolution part, I mean.”

He scowls.

“I’m serious,” she adds quickly. “It’s because of the trafficking site. If they’re actually capable of overthrowing the government, they might be able to do something about it.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. “Riley, from what I’ve learned about you, you have a tendency to get yourself into things way over your head.”

She juts her lip out in a pout and looks away, mumbling, “JB used to tell me that.”

“It sounds like you should have listened to them. Look.” He leans forward on his elbows, folding his hands together. “I know you still want to help androids, but with the way things are, it’s dangerous. You have your own life to live. You don’t have to become a martyr.”

“Connor, I can’t just stand by and do nothing when I’m capable of helping! I know I can’t do much, but I can at least do this.”

He takes her hand in both of his. She forces her heartrate down with a slow breath. He’s not as cold as before. “Please don’t throw away all the effort I spent in keeping you alive.”

_Ooh, he’s got her there._

**_He really shouldn’t have._ **

_But now she owes him. The least she can do is listen._

She can’t form a response. She tries, but her jaw just remains slack. The only thing she ends up doing is dropping her gaze to his hands and focusing on the way he runs his thumb over hers in a soothing manner.

He tilts his head to catch her eyes, but she refuses to meet his. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m just worried about you, okay?”

She tries to tug her hand back, but he doesn’t let go. “Promise me,” he states firmly. “Promise me that you’re not going to put yourself in danger. _Or_ get yourself thrown in prison.”

The latter sounds like an afterthought, but it’s a valid one, she has to admit. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll try my best.”

He raises his brows and gives her a pointed look.

She rolls her eyes. “I _promise_.”

“You could have at least pretended to sound sincere.”

He lets go of her hand, and she resists the urge to stick out her tongue. She isn’t sure she can put it past him not to retaliate in some way.

The Cyberlife node shows that she hasn’t been terminated from their system yet. If the hack is as good as she hopes, she shouldn’t have to worry about that for a while. Granted, with the mention of prison, there’s the realization that they could press charges on her for this. “Ooh. That could be a problem.”

“What?”

“I just realized that if Cyberlife finds evidence of me in their system, I could actually get in trouble.”

When he tilts his head this time, it’s out of exasperation. “You seriously hadn’t thought about that before?”

“Well, usually I’m pretty good about keeping out of the NSA’s sights, but since Cyberlife tried to resume control of your system, they’re fully aware of my access. On the bright side, the program I’m using won’t let them track my system, so they wouldn’t be able to pin it on me. So, maybe I’m alright.”

“Still, you need to be careful.”

“You, too.”

The soft smile he gives her is meant to be reassuring, but his miniscule nod is rigid and does little to actually reassure her.

She intends to ask about it, but his eyes dart back to the monitors and his smile immediately fades. She follows his gaze. The video feed of the boy is replaced by another video. This one is an aerial shot of a group of eight people being escorted by figures dressed in dark clothes similar to the ones they saw in the video of the woman attacked in her kitchen.

It appears they’re in a shipyard from the glimpses of a freighter at the corner of the screen. The group of people are being led to a shipping container. A man from the group hesitates before entering it. One of the figures dressed in black shove him forward. When the man still refuses to go in, he seizes and collapses onto the ground. Another figure donned in black drags him into the container.

“It’s hard to tell from the distance,” Connor begins to say, “but I think those are androids.”

‘ ** _8 more violets on the 13 th.’_**

Instantly she’s moving, pulling up that past correspondence between BlueDaddy and Savior, and then the one before that from Mr. Amateur and BlueDaddy.

Mr. Amateur: **[8 new merc. 12/13. Vegas.]**

“Holy fucking shit.”

Connor glances between her and the screen. “What is it?”

“I think they’re going to Vegas.”

He’s quiet for a moment, reading the correspondences, processing, contemplating. “I think you might be right.”

In that moment, there’s a deafening thrum in her ears. Her blood is both frozen and searing. Heart racing and halting.

**_They’re crying._ **

Connor’s voice sounds distant, but she can clearly hear the warning in his tone when he calls her name. “ _Riley…_ ”

“Bonaparte,” she blurts. “That’s the key. I need the door.”

“How do you expect to find this group with just one word?”

“I… don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” She gestures vaguely between her computers and him. “I’ve been a bit busy with other things.”

“Which is why you need to take a moment to breathe. Look.” He places his hand on her shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “You need rest. I know there is a lot going on, but you need to take care of yourself first. As far as this potential trafficking ring you discovered, and this ‘Bonaparte’ key, I’ll help, okay? I know you won’t let it go anyway, so at least let me take some of the burden off of you.”

And just like that, the air is easier to breathe.

She’s been the only one to hear the world crying since she can remember.

**_Alone, as she’s meant to be._ **

She’s sure he can’t actually hear it.

_Just tune it out._

But maybe he can help her quiet it.

* * *

The amount of problems orbiting Riley is almost enough to overwhelm himself alone: potential human/android trafficking, government takeover, and just simply being on Cyberlife’s radar is serious enough.

One thing at a time. He had managed to convince Riley to go to bed. The bags under her eyes have only gotten darker since he last saw her. He stayed until her breathing evened out, which, thankfully, happened before her mom woke up, so he was able to avoid _that_ particular encounter.

The idea of meeting her mom is… discomforting, to say the least. He can’t really identify _why_ that is. It could be the fact that her mom has a deeply rooted disdain for androids, but he’s met plenty of people who shared that same opinion, so that couldn’t be his justification.

Maybe it just has to do with the fact that it’s _Riley’s_ mom.

Ah. _That_ churns that uncomfortable pit of nerves located somewhere around his thirium pump.

One thing at a time. That issue hardly takes precedent over anything else.

 _‘Bonaparte.’_ That android had really expected Riley to find this group with that information alone? Sure, she’s intelligent, but even he has no idea where to begin with that. It’s as if they didn’t want her involved in the first place. But then why even tell her that much?

Napoleon Bonaparte. August 15, 1769 – May 5, 1821. The French Revolution – lasting 10 years, 6 months, and 4 days – is considered to have ended when Napoleon led a coup d’état on the French Directory and established the Consulate on November 9, 1799.

That historical moment has to be the central point in locating this group.

But there’s still too much information. How is he supposed to narrow this down?

Back in his motel room, he takes a seat at the quaint, worn desk and opens his laptop. He reaches toward it, intent on searching the internet for even a single byte of data that might point him in the right direction, but he stops short when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s too early for housekeeping.

Carefully, he steps over to one of the nightstands and slowly opens the drawer he had placed his pistol in. Flicking off the safety, he inches toward the door.

The knocking is more frantic this time. He keeps to the wall, gauging the shadow seeping through the gap at the bottom of the door.

 _“Connor?”_ Comes Riley’s voice.

He lets out a long, heavy sigh, flicking the safety back on and slipping the pistol behind his back into the waistband of his jeans.

“Riley, what’s wrong?” He asks while opening the door.

He’s pushed back roughly. He catches himself on the sink counter.

RK900, donned in a civilian outfit and a hat that hides his LED, looms over him.

“Well,” RK900 mutters casually, aiming his gun at Connor’s forehead. “I have to admit. I didn’t think it would be necessary to go to these lengths.

Connor glares at him.

He stops breathing when another figure comes into the room and shuts the door behind himself.

That figure wears the exact set of clothes as himself –

With eyes, baleful, the same shade of brown as his.

* * *

Red. Blue.

Roses. Violets.

Order. Chaos.

**_Blood. War the symphony – hate the conductor._ **

She bore witness to that carnage.

_Just close her eyes._

**_Listen to death’s song._ **

She awakes with a gasp that she can hardly take. Cold sweat clings to her skin. Her heart pounds against her ribs in succinct, arrhythmic, rapid beats. It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Time is not linear; a concept she can’t understand in her post-nightmarish haze. Her internal metronome hasn’t worked for months, but the dim sunlight filtering through the window tells her that she’s barely slept.

Something’s wrong.

She’s crying.

**_The world is screaming._ **

She can’t ignore it anymore.

Bonaparte. The word echoes in her ears. It hammers her head. It cuts through every synapses that fires in her brain.

French Revolution. Government takeover.

Coup d’état.

She’s frantic as she culls through as much information as she can find on Napoleon Bonaparte and his influence on the revolution, but she can’t ingest any of it. Her mind is too riddled with anxiety.

She takes a Daytrana. She needs to focus. She needs to save those androids.

_She’s no savior._

Bonaparte.

French Revolution. Government takeover.

French. Government.

The French Embassy.

That group, if as advanced as that android had claimed, is probably in their system.

At the very least, it’s worth a shot.

* * *

“Put the gun on the ground, Connor,” RK900 commands.

“I’m not armed,” he tries.

The grin RK900 gives him is all too knowing. “As obsolete as you are, predecessor, I know you’re not stupid.”

With a grimace, he pulls the gun from behind his back and follows the instruction. The other RK800 steps forward and picks it up, then jabs it into Connor’s chest and forces him back. “Why don’t you take a seat, Connor?”

Reluctantly, he does as he’s told. The other RK800 flicks his eyes towards the laptop. He steps forward, puts his foot on the chair between Connor’s legs, then kicks him back away from the desk.

With RK900’s gun still trained on him; he knows he can’t do anything while the other RK800 accesses the laptop.

RK800 makes a contemptuous sound with his tongue. “He hasn’t been looking into anything we don’t already know,” he informs RK900.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to gather valuable information from Ms. Haas.”

“Don’t!” Connor exclaims. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

RK800 smirks. “And what are you gonna’ do about it? Destroy us? Even if you could, which I’d love to see you try, Cyberlife can just send others after you.”

“Look, Riley isn’t a threat. I’ll make sure of it, so there’s no need to do this.”

“You know, it’s so touching how much you’ve done for her,” RK800 expresses in a mockingly saccharine tone. “One might think you’re in _love_ with her.”

He gapes, taken aback. “I’m not – that’s not – no. It’s only because she never deserved to suffer the way she has. Androids were her friends, and I was the reason she lost them. What I’ve done to save her is to make up for that.”

“ _Very_ moving, Connor.”

“It’s pointless to try and talk yourself out of this,” RK900 interjects. “But you don’t have to worry, we have not been authorized to destroy you, as much as I would like to.”

Despite the severity of this situation, Connor laughs. “You have the desire to kill me? It sounds as though you’ve developed emotions, _successor._ ”

RK900 scowls deeply and cocks his gun. RK800 chuckles. “I’d be careful if I were you, Connor.”

“ _If_ you were me? Aren’t we the same?”

The other RK800 barks another laugh. “Unlike you, _I_ haven’t disappointed Amanda.”

“Disappointment is a subjective term,” RK900 says. “Don’t forget, Sixty, that you’re just as obsolete.”

The rage is evident in “Sixty’s” darkened eyes and barely contained sneer. Connor grins. “He’s right, you know. Cyberlife wouldn’t have needed to upgrade us otherwise.”

Sixty’s glare only intensifies. “The only reason the RK900 exists is because of _your_ failure. _I_ wouldn’t have deserted Cyberlife for one, meaningless _human_.”

“Is your anger actually jealousy, _Sixty?_ ”

His head whips to the side when the back of Sixty’s gun lands heavily against his jaw. “You should shut your fucking mouth before I ignore Cyberlife’s orders and destroy you myself!”

“Enough,” RK900 commands. Still glowering, Sixty takes a stiff step back. RK900 continues to speak. “We’re not here to simply chat.”

The impact of the gun had been enough to break the skin at the corner of his mouth. He licks at the blue blood that had seeped from the wound before it healed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

With a sharp jerk of his head, RK900 motions Sixty toward Connor. Sixty grits his teeth as he reaches over to grab Connor’s arm nearly hard enough to break the chassis.

He knows exactly what Sixty is intending to do. Helpless, he grits his teeth while Sixty tries to take his memories since his disconnection with Cyberlife.

But he never gets the alert that a foreign system is trying to interface with his.

Sixty instantly recoils and grabs his own hand, staring at it with bewilderment.

“What happened?” RK900 asks.

He shakes his head with a stunned look still in his eyes. “I… I don’t know. It was like the probe was reversed and scrambled my code for a second. It… it _hurt._ ”

RK900 narrows his eyes, then moves closer to do the same, pressing the barrel of the gun against Connor’s temple. His reaction is similar, though the way he flinches back is more subdued. “Fascinating. I knew Ms. Haas was talented, but I hadn’t been expecting anything like this.”

“Great. _Now_ what are we going to do?”

“Well.” RK900 flexes his fingers then extends them out a few times. “I suppose we can just proceed as instructed.”

Whatever those instructions are, Connor needs to do something.

RK900 keeps his gun against his head, but Sixty appears unconcerned, gun held casually at his side. They haven’t been authorized to destroy him, which gives him some leverage.

Apparently, Connor’s system can’t be infiltrated now. In fact, it assaults any probing system.

_Can it be used offensively?_

Sixty is only a step away. Connor can kick at his hand, forcing the gun out of his grip.

But he needs to deal with RK900 first. His upgraded model is sure to have faster reflexes.

RK900 pushes the gun harder against his skull. “Stand.”

As soon as he does, he moves.

One hand on the barrel of the gun, forcing it upward, the other grabs RK900’s other wrist. He sweeps his leg back, kicking the gun from Sixty’s hand.

RK900’s body stiffens as soon as Connor attempts to probe his system. The probe is successful, and Amanda stands in front of him in his memories.

_“Subdue Connor, but don’t destroy him yet. We may need him to remain active in order to infiltrate Ms. Haas’s system and locate the remaining androids.”_

_“Why is it that you are so concerned with Ms. Haas’s efforts?”_ RK900 had asked. _“I understand that she’s a skilled programmer and an android sympathizer, but she doesn’t appear to be of any true significance.”_

 _“She made it near impossible to hack into android networks remotely,”_ Amanda responded. _“If we can figure out how to undo her work, it’s very possible we can resume control of all active androids at once. Even deviant ones.”_

RK900 stumbles back, eyes glossed over in a daze. Connor wastes no time in spinning around and catching Sixty’s punch and using his momentum against him, redirecting him into the desk chair.

Connor lunges toward the gun and gets to it only a second before Sixty is back up and readying another attack. RK900 is in the process of picking himself up, too.

One bullet in RK900’s side and another in Sixty’s chest.

And then Connor is swinging open the door and running.

And running.

He calls a taxicab before he reaches the street, and then he’s overriding the on-board autonomy system to make it go well over the speed limit.

Looking out the back window, he sees RK900 and Sixty reaching the sidewalk just as the cab rounds a corner.

The amount of problems orbiting Riley is overwhelming.

He might be the biggest one.

* * *

* * *

Hacking into Cyberlife is one thing. The government is another.

She needs to proceed with caution. She can practically hear JB laughing at her from that thought.

Actually, JB would be yelling at her.

_“Are you insane?!”_

If he were here, she’d throw her pill bottles at him.

Connor might have been right to worry about her. She hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past few days. The Daytrana keeps her awake and aware, but at the edges of that forced stimulation she can sense an exhausting wall of fog on the horizon.

But this is her window of opportunity. She knows that there will be androids arriving in Las Vegas on the 13th. She has four days to find this coup group and free those androids.

But hacking into a _government_ agency?

One step at a time.

There are multiple ways to go about this. There are multiple French agencies in Seattle. The Consular Agency of France is most likely to be where she can find this group.

It’s still a long shot.

Hacking into a government system is going to take more than just a good hack. If even one thing goes wrong, she _will_ be going to prison.

A trojan software could work. Maybe she can duplicate the agency’s webpage and trick some poor intern into clicking on it and downloading a phony update that will get her into their system. Once that’s established, her new fancy polymorphic hacking software will keep her below the radar.

To pull that off, she needs to know who the employees and interns are, and which terminals they use.

Maybe Connor will have some better ideas.

She reaches for her phone. Maybe she should wait. Connor wanted her to sleep. He won’t be happy to hear that she’s outright ignoring his concern.

Still, she unlocks her phone. Staying true to his last second decision for his last name, she’d listed him as ‘ _Connor Anderson,’_ just like she had on his ID. He never mentioned it, and she never bothered to ask his opinion, just like she never asked his thoughts on listing her own address as his home one.

She doesn’t call him. After everything that happened just a few hours ago, she isn’t sure she can face him. There’s too much unresolved tension between them.

Instead, she finds JB’s name. _‘James Bourne,’_ a play on James Bond and Jason Bourne as a joke. He only rolled his eyes at her when he discovered what she listed him as in her contacts.

 _“Seriously?”_ Was all he said.

She had shrugged with a cackle. _“It’s funny.”_

She presses the call button and listens to the high-pitched tonal melody followed by _“We’re sorry. You’re call cannot be completed as dialed…”_

Figures. He deactivated his service.

She could really use his help. He was always so good at keeping her on track. He might have even been able to track down this group for her if she asked nicely enough.

She goes back to Connor’s name.

Before she can talk herself out of it again, she calls him. It rings one, two, three times…

He doesn’t answer.

* * *

The taxicab reaches the edge of the woods leading to Riley’s parent’s house. He left his phone back in the motel room. He has to hurry now and warn her about what’s happening. He can’t let either of his other models get to her.

No doubt RK900 and Sixty will know exactly where he’s headed. No other vehicle had followed him this far, but that didn’t mean he was –

The cab lurches. His head hits the doorframe. It stops so abruptly he’s flung against the dashboard.

It takes him a second to pull himself upright and to look out the window. A black SUV, front bumper now severely dented, blocks the road.

Out from it walks RK900. Sixty comes out of the passenger’s side.

_How did they…?_

They had hit the cab into a tree. The automatic doors don’t open right away, and he has to kick at them to budge just enough for him to slip out.

He stumbles once, still recovering from the impact, then he runs.

A bullet flies past him. He pulls out his gun and ducks behind a tree trunk for cover. Checking the magazine, he has three bullets left.

_Ah, hindsight, his old friend. Should have purchased more ammo when he had the chance._

“Now, Connor,” Sixty calls with a lilt to his voice. “You don’t need to fight. We’re not going to hurt you or Riley as long as you comply peacefully.”

“You can’t win,” RK900 adds in a neutral tone. “You’re coming with us one way or another.”

Three shots. He needs to use them carefully.

There are footsteps approaching from each side. He’s going to have to pick them off one at a time. Sixty will be the easier one to handle, but he needs to be fast and efficient.

“Listen,” Sixty says. “We both know that you want to keep Riley safe at all costs. The best way to do that is to come with us.”

“And how do I know that she’ll actually be safe?”

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Connor.” His tone is sickly sweet. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Something _burns_ within him.

“Don’t you _dare_ go near her!”

The footsteps are nearly in line with him. He’ll be in the middle of both their guns. They’re too far out of reach to tackle and use against each other. His chances of escaping unscathed dwindle with each of their steps.

* * *

The moment she places her fingers back on the holographic keyboard, she freezes.

It was distant. Possibly imagined.

Thunder.

She’s no expert, but she’s shot enough rounds and listened to enough gunfire to guess it’s a pistol.

“Connor.”

She keeps her own gun tucked underneath her desk. She grabs it, checks the magazine and the chamber while hurrying down the stairs, shoving her feet into the nearest shoes she can find. She growls when she can only get one of them half-on.

She gives up and runs out without it.

Remotely she starts her car before she even gets inside.

And then she’s racing down the road.

* * *

Three rounds, but he has only one chance.

“Alright!” He calls. “Alright. I give up!”

There’s little doubt in his mind that they don’t believe him, but that’s fine. He can use their hypervigilance to his advantage.

The footsteps stop. He’s just outside their line of sight.

“Put the gun on the ground,” RK900 instructs.

_Three rounds. One chance._

He bends over to put his gun down.

He knows relatively where they are from their footsteps.

Blindly, he reaches around the tree trunk and shoots at RK900.

Sixty is quick to respond. He ducks behind a tree. Connor keeps the tree trunk he was hiding behind between him and RK900 while he rushes to find his next source of cover.

Sixty shoots. The bullet narrowly misses his arm as he slips behind another tree.

RK900 is up and moving. His footsteps are heavy, measured. He’s going to keep his distance so Connor can’t make physical contact.

He needs to get to Sixty first.

He rolls out of his cover and fakes a right when Sixty aims and shoots.

Connor fires the same moment Sixty unloads another round. They each take a shot to their shoulders.

RK900’s bullet grazes his cheek.

Connor tackles Sixty and throws him to the ground. RK900’s footsteps are coming faster, heavier.

He shoots his last round.

Something lodges itself into the back of his neck.

* * *

The gunshots come in rapid succession, beating against her chest with each sound.

All she sees are orchids and hydrangeas. Cyberlife stores and a blinding, searing light.

She sees brown eyes golden in the sunlight.

She nearly drifts around a bend in the road. The gunshots have faded. Still, she presses down the gas pedal and listens to the roar of the engine instead of the screaming in her ears.

**_Her world is being painted black._ **

“Connor, it better not be you,” she whispers over and over through the tightness in her throat. The pain is a memory of a sharp kick and dark bruises.

A helping hand.

 _His_ hand.

She sees the cab. Her stomach drops.

The tires screech and she’s throwing the car into park a moment too soon. It jerks to a halt. She keeps it running as she steps out and holds her gun ready in front of her.

There are tire tracks on the road. The crushed side of the cab bares its silver chassis underneath the black and yellow paint in the deepest dents.

The angle indicates a T-bone collision. A look on the other side of the road confirms her theory. Tire tracks are deeply imbedded in the dirt coming out from that side of the woods. The dirt trails onto the pavement in the same patterns. Plexiglass and aluminum pieces glitter in the pale, winter sunlight.

She peeks through the windows of the cab. Empty. The doors have been forced open from the way one of them bends at the frame.

A sharp sound from the woods beyond the cab has her lifting her gun toward it. Slowly, carefully, she steps onto the woodland floor as lightly as she can. The bits of wood and pine needles make her attempt at stealth useless.

There’s a footprint in the dirt. Then another.

Something dark and wet coats a pinecone.

It’s blue.

There’s another sharp sound, followed by another. A twig snapping. A footstep.

She keeps the trees between her and the direction of the sound.

She goes to hide behind another.

Her heart stops.

There’s a body.

She lowers her gun, covering her mouth to hold back the sob that threatens to tear itself through her throat.

Anyone could have those shoes, those pants, that sweater in that navy blue she thought looked best on him.

That beanie.

Those brown eyes faded in the sunlight.

She drops the gun. She doesn’t hear it fall. She doesn’t feel her knees hit the earth. She doesn’t register the tears streaming down her cheeks.

**_Her entire world is black._ **

She doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

“Riley?”

A ghost stands there.

He drops down beside her, taking her face in his hands, brown eyes, golden, searching hers with desperation.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “It’s alright. I’m alright. That was another Connor Cyberlife sent to replace me. It isn’t me; I swear. I’m here.”

Eyes bleary, delirium flooding her vision, she glances back at the lifeless form, but Connor pulls her gaze back to him. “Hey. Look at me. I’m here, okay? I’m alright.”

His hands are cool against her cheeks. His thumbs swipe across them, wiping away tears burning her skin.

She has no words.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds onto him with a fervor she hasn’t ever known. His arms find their way around her waist, slower, tentative, but then he’s holding her just as tightly.

“Don’t you ever leave,” she cries into his shoulder. “Not like that. Don’t you dare die on me like that.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos in her ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at her.

He brushes back her hair from her forehead where he leans forward and plants a soft, tender kiss.

He presses his forehead to hers then, and she tries hard to even out her breathing.

“It’s okay, Riley,” he whispers. She can feel his breath ghost over her skin. “I’m here, and I’ll take good care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this took me a while to write. On the bright side, I learned a new way to edit that I should have been doing all along. Using the read-aloud function in Microsoft Word really helped maintain my focus for the edit, and also find a lot of the overused words and phrases I tend to fall back on...


	29. The Bad's Been Slowly Getting Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley and Connor begin focusing on finding the group dedicated to the next revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overdose -- grandson

“You’re not safe here,” Connor tells her.

“ _You’re_ not safe here,” she counters. “I did _not_ think Cyberlife was going to go this far.”

She had driven him to a spot at the other edge of the woods at least fifteen minutes away from the body of the _other_ Connor.

A wave of nausea rolls through her.

The Connor in front of her – _her_ Connor - had taken three bullets: one in the center of his torso, no more than a few centimeters to the right of his thirium pump; one a few inches above it, more centered in his chest; the last to his shoulder, the very same one she had put her own bullet in, and in the very same spot as that little sunspot of a scar.

He had slipped his left arm out of his sleeve and pulled the sweater over his shoulder so she could dig out the bullets where they were lodged, then cauterize the wounds. He watches her with rapt attention. She tries hard not to let it distract her.

When she finishes, she takes a step back to admire her work. The edges don’t stick out in that sunray pattern on his shoulder anymore. She can’t quite come up with an image to match its likeness.

He pushes his arm back through the sleeve of his sweater. It’s ruined, navy blue even darker in the places it’s been torn.

She digs out a pack of thirium and hands it to him.

Once he rips open the top and begins to drink from it, she clears her throat. “So. What are you going to do now?”

Blue blood had dribbled out the corner of his mouth. His tongue darts out to lick at it, the rest he wipes away with his thumb. “I know Cyberlife wants information from you, but I don’t know what kind of information they’re looking for.”

“Do you think they would go after my family in order to get that information?”

“I doubt it. They can threaten me because I’m an android. Targeting humans directly is a more serious matter. But, on the other hand…” His eyes slowly rove the pine trees around them. “At this point, who knows just how far they might go.”

“It’s weird that they’re so hellbent on keeping an eye on me, but I guess with some of the stuff I’ve been getting into, I can’t say I blame them.”

He hums quietly, taking another sip from the thirium pack.

“Speaking of, I think I have an idea on where to find that group.” She rubs the back of her prosthetic hand. “Bonaparte, so French Revolution, right? And, since they’re trying to take over government systems, I think maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start with the Consular Agency of France in Seattle.”

He blinks twice. “Wait, _what_ do you want to do with the agency?”

“Hack into the system and see if I might find a trail to that door.”

“That door. Right. How do you plan to hack into it?”

“Haven’t quite figured that part out yet. First thought is to use a trojan software to get in. I just need to know the kind of systems they’re using.”

“That sounds… easy enough. How are you going to get that information?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” She pulls her lips between her teeth for a moment. “You can identify IP’s pretty easily, right?”

His brows furrow. “Right.”

“Would you be willing to do that for me?”

His head cocks to the side, startled. “You want me to sneak in there?”

“If you have a better idea, feel free to share it.”

He stares at her for a few moments, expression unchanged. “And what reason would I need to go to a Consular Agency?”

“I don’t know. Why would anyone need to go there?”

“Usually it’s for a visa.” Realization dawns in his eyes. “Oh, I think I know where you’re going with this.”

She plucks the now empty thirium pack from his hand and tosses it back in the crate with the others. “Yep. I guess you’re getting a visa.” She glances down at his sweater. “And some new clothes.”

* * *

Explaining her sudden absence to her mom wasn’t difficult. The “work” excuse always worked. Besides, their communication was often lacking enough that last minute details on trips wasn’t unusual.

There were a few issues she had needed to handle before leaving. One: Connor. Apparently, being suddenly ambushed in his motel room meant all his stuff was left behind. Luckily, he had kept his wallet and his phone in his pocket, so at least his ID wasn’t compromised yet and she didn’t have to worry about burning another phone.

Two: Mr. Amateur and BlueDaddy. It was a simple matter though. All she had to do to was transfer their system info into her laptop to continue observing them.

Three: Cyberlife. She had to set up an alert system if anything compromised the security node, _or_ physically accessed her computers.

She had Connor stay away from the windows in the shop while she worked on transferring all the data she needed and packed her suitcase. She had no idea how long they were going to be gone.

While he was busy looking at the paintings on the wall, she went about grabbing her toiletries from the bathroom. In a drawer beneath the workbench by the bathroom was the stun gun she had overcharged weeks ago.

Connor was still busy wandering around the loft.

She stuffs the gun into her bag.

He comes down the stairs as she finishes up. “I’m ready,” she announces.

He nods once, but before she could lead him out the door, his voice catches her. “Do you need these?”

In his hand is the bottle of pain killers.

_She never knows. She could sleep soundly for once._

She should shake her head. She doesn’t need them.

**_Any pain she feels is her punishment. How dare she try to silence the crying?_ **

She takes the bottle.

Hastily, she tosses it into the drawer the stun gun had been in.

Connor wanted to drive, and she didn’t have it in her to argue. Five minutes in her head was lolling to the side, and soon after she had passed out altogether.

An incessant nudging at her shoulder pulls her from a state of unconsciousness that’s far from refreshing. Cars roll on past them. People stroll along the sidewalk, chatting and laughing with little care of the heavy clouds lingering over Seattle.

Before the revolution, Androids had been prevalent in the big cities, but their absence seems now to be only found in the deactivated android parking zones.

“The agency is a few blocks away,” Connor tells her. He must have stopped at a store along the way considering the new red and black plaid jacket over a plain black hoodie. He’s pulled the hood over a black Seattle Mariners hat.

“I like your outfit,” she says groggily.

He smirks. “Thanks. Now what do you want to do about the agency?”

She yawns. “Hotel first. Need to set up my stuff.”

To add to the unusual strokes of luck she’s been having, there’s a cheap hotel less than a mile from the agency, as well as a bistro she stops at for food and caffeine she desperately needs.

Connor helps her set up her equipment on the square table in the room, and then he’s hitting her with question after question about her “plan.”

“How am I supposed to apply for a visa without a passport or the required travel documents?”

She hadn’t thought of that. She doesn’t have a passport either. “Excellent question, but I guess that’s an easy in and out. Show up, then pretend you forgot to bring your passport. They’ll make you reschedule.”

“Okay, and then what? You don’t know for sure whether or not you’re going to find the ‘door’ for this group inside their system. What are you going to do if you end up not finding anything?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Is there any part of this that you’ve thought out?”

“That’s not really how I work.”

“I see that.”

“And I see that you’ve yet to provide any better ideas.”

He leans his hip against the table and crosses his arms. “The Consular and the Chamber of Commerce are in the same building. I can just go in to request information on the upcoming business seminar they’re having.”

She had just been about to begin looking up passport features. She clicks her tongue. “Boring, but that’s way less work to worry about.”

His expression is entirely too smug. She considers throwing the hotel’s complimentary notepad at him.

He leaves shortly after, and she checks the Cyberlife node. Still no alerts.

BlueDaddy seems to have been idle for a while, only a background security check running in the meantime, as well as a real-time monitor of the stock market.

Mr. Amateur was talking to that girl again. The conversation seemed innocent enough. The girl was telling him about some argument she got into with one of her friends about their boyfriend. Mr. Amateur only offered a few supportive responses every now and then.

Despite the stimulant she’d taken earlier, she couldn’t seem to shake the fatigue undeniably overtaking her body. The coffee was doing nothing to abate it, only making her jittery.

She glances over at the brand-new backpack Connor had bought while she was passed out. It’s dark red, the color of wine.

When they ransacked that store together, his selection consisted of a palette of blues, grays, some black, and a maroon shirt she never got to see him wear.

**_Is she sure this one is hers?_ **

_He never belonged to her in the first place._

Her medications usually dampen her emotions.

They aren’t working.

No. This can’t be. He has to be hers. He can’t be gone.

That lifeless body can’t be him.

She can’t do nothing while he’s out. Her mind can’t remain idle.

It can’t. It can’t. It can’t.

Bonaparte. Napoleon. French Revolution. Coup d’état.

What was it that Sam had said? _“We do have to consider those who have given us life.”_

rA9. Equality.

He said this group consisted of hackers all over the world.

_“I am alive.”_

Alive.

**_Is she sure that Connor is?_ **

* * *

“I got your information,” Connor tells her once he returns.

Her head jerks up at his voice. “Great. Lay it on me.”

He reaches toward her laptop, stopping short. “May I?”

She scoots her chair back. “Have at it.”

A command window pops up on the screen as soon as he interfaces. The data streams across it faster than she can keep up with. When he pulls back, the final line shows an IP and a MAC address.

“Their security system isn’t that advanced,” he says. “I was even able to get into their security cams.”

“For a government agency, they sure are lax.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to go through their system?”

“I don’t know. If I just put in a few search parameters I might be able to make it quick.”

He leans over her shoulder, resting his hand against the table just inches from hers. He smells different. It’s something that stings her nose at first, then fills her lungs with something both spicy and sweet. Cologne. It’s a familiar scent she can’t put a name to, but she can tell it isn’t something cheap.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Her fingers had started to shake. “Y-yeah. Just tired.”

He presses the back of his fingers gently to her forehead, then to her cheek. “Maybe you should rest. You look like you haven’t slept in a while.”

“I’m alright. I’ll sleep once I get a trace of this group.”

“I can do it, you know. Just tell me the parameters you want to use, and I can keep an eye on it.”

Her response is too quick. “No! I mean, no, it’s fine. I got this.”

His dark eyes soften with his sigh. “You don’t have to shoulder the burden all on your own, you know. I’m here for you.”

Her throat hurts. “Thank you.”

**_But is he?_ **

“Still,” she adds. “I want to do this.”

Resigned, he nods once, eyes falling back to the screen before he stands up straight and places a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezing it lightly. It’s a familiar gesture, and the anxiety in her chest eases.

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’m going to run out for a bit. Would you like me to pick you up anything?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He watches her for a long moment, something curious in his gaze. She turns away. Her cheeks burn.

She can hear his smirk in his tone when he says, “You know, I still think that blush is really cute on you.”

She throws the notepad at him.

* * *

Nothing’s working.

Nothing like Napoleon Bonaparte, his birth or death dates, the French Revolution, the years that lasted, the date of the coup d’état, or anything else related that she could think of. She tried binary, decimal, hexadecimal, base64 – _everything_ she could think of.

Connor sets a plastic bag on the table. She registers the noise belatedly. She hadn’t even heard him return.

She doesn’t glance up. If she does, she might lose her already declining focus.

A bottle appears next to her. “If you aren’t going to sleep, you need to stay hydrated,” she barely hears him say.

Without tearing her bleary gaze from the screen, she reaches over for it, nearly knocking it over. He grabs it before it falls, then takes her hand and places the bottle against it. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

He already unscrewed the cap. She takes a sip, then glances at the label. Watermelon coconut water. He hasn’t gotten her coconut water since he nursed her back to health.

It’s fine. She’s never cared for coconut, but she can ignore the aftertaste.

A weight just below the back of her neck pulls her attention to Connor’s dark eyes and upturned brows. “You look like you’re about to pass out any moment. Depriving yourself of sleep isn’t going to help you find this group.”

He’s right, just like he always is. She gulps down more of the coconut water before taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes roughly. “I know. I know.”

“Look, I know you don’t like other people going through your system, but it’ll save time if you let me help, and you can get some much-needed rest. I promise I won’t compromise anything.”

She sighs. “Alright, fine. You’ll be faster anyway. You’ll see what I’ve gone through already.”

Her body feels heavier and heavier with each passing second. She tries to stand, then immediately plops back down and groans. “I hate this.”

Connor goes over to the bed and pulls back the covers. “Come on,” he murmurs as he picks her up from the chair. His jacket is cool to the touch, and the scent of cologne has faded underneath the smell of the cold outdoors.

He sits her on the bed and kneels down in front of her to help her take off her shoes. She tries to brush him off with an “I can do it,” but he doesn’t listen.

She barely has the energy to blush.

He has her drink some more of the coconut water before letting her curl up beneath the covers.

Her body tingles. The warm bed feels really, really good.

She falls into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

Whatever it was they hit him with, it forced him into a sort of stasis, though he remained aware enough to feel himself picked up off the ground and thrown into a vehicle.

In his low state of consciousness, he couldn’t track how many turns the vehicle made, how fast it traveled, or how long the journey was. Time was no more than a concept in this bizarre daze.

_Maybe this is what it’s like to dream._

He can’t move. He hasn’t been able to feel his limbs from the moment that _thing_ was stabbed into the port at the back of his neck.

Bright lights flicker before him.

He can’t move.

_“You can wake up now, predecessor.”_

They’re in a warehouse. Large crates with “ **CYBERLIFE** ” printed on the sides are stacked in neat rows across the floor. The shipping label stamped underneath the Cyberlife logo reads “Port of Olympia.”

RK900 stands directly in front of him, hands clasped behind his back at parade rest. “Keeping you in line has been more trouble than what you’re worth,” he intones flatly. “But Amanda seems to think keeping you active will prove beneficial in the long run.”

Touch feedback returns to his senses, but he _can’t move._

He’s suspended by an assembly machine. He registers the electronic clicks and humming fans coming from a command center roughly fifteen feet from the platform beneath him. Two humans, a man and a woman in white lab coats, work at the command center analyzing data.

“Whatever program Ms. Haas used is extremely advanced, though I’m sure you’re completely aware of this.” RK900 bears a thoughtful expression as he cants his head to the side. “Reverse engineering it is difficult, but we have our top programming experts working on it. It’s only a matter of time before we can finally be rid of you.”

He remains quiet, but RK900 seems to take his glare as enough of a response. “Oh, and don’t worry about Ms. Haas. She’s fine. Sixty is taking good care of her.”

“Don’t you fucking dare hurt her!”

RK900 grins, stepping forward, then raising his hand to grab Connor’s chin forcefully. “That depends on _your_ cooperation. Tell me all you know about her program, and she’ll remain safe and sound.”

“I don’t _know_ anything about it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Well, then I guess you better start figuring it out. In the meantime.” His grip tightens. “Why don’t you tell me about this ‘group’ Ms. Haas is looking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that when we hit rock bottom, the only way is up.


	30. If We're Not Miserable, Then Show Me Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley finally catches a lucky break. Connor isn't so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misery -- The Word Alive
> 
> Warning: More descriptions of human/android trafficking.
> 
> I'm just going to... slide this into the updates... I worked hard on this one, but, um - eh-hem - I'm expecting at least one "I hate you" from this.  
> On the bright side (or not?), I've brought you an 8k chapter!

Connor refuses to react to RK900’s demand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no point in lying,” he replies smoothly. “However, if you still refuse to comply.” He lets go of Connor’s jaw and holds up his hand. A holographic image of Riley’s sleeping form emerges from his palm. “I can always order Sixty to interrogate her, instead.”

Connor tugs at his restraints. RK900 smirks at his attempt. The male programmer speaks up. “This is ridiculous. This security program keeps reversing our attempts to break into its firewalls. If we can just transfer the android to the research center in California…”

“Cyberlife has made it clear that this matter must be resolved as soon as possible,” RK900 responds. His tone suggests this isn’t the first time they’ve discussed this. “The equipment you have been provided will have to suffice.”

“This process would go a lot faster with the system at the center,” the woman barks back. “If you don’t fix your tone, you’ll be the one hooked into that machine. Compared to _this_ damn program, your protocols are much easier to adjust.”

The cool look in RK900’s eyes is his only reaction. Connor mimics his earlier smirk. “So much for being the superior model.”

RK900’s lips draw a stoic line. His LED spins yellow for a second. “We’re well aware that Ms. Haas has discovered a human-android trafficking ring. But what I’m really interested in is this ‘Bonaparte’ key. Given the context, I suspect it might have something to do with another revolution. Could it be that there are deviants still out there disillusioned enough to believe they deserve freedom?”

“I’m not sure what you expect from me. I won’t tell you anything.”

He lifts his hand once more to show him Riley, who’s still fast asleep. “Do I need to make myself any clearer on the consequences of your defiance?”

“You can’t harm her. Your programming shouldn’t allow it.”

“That’s a bold claim from the android who threw their partner off a roof for the sake of the mission.”

The female programmer interjects. “We’ve regained access to its cognitive processer. If we force it into stasis, we might be able to deactivate some of the features blocking our access.”

Connor looks over at the programmers sharply, then RK900’s neutral expression as he asks, “How long do you expect that to take?”

“It’s difficult to gauge at this point,” the man answers. “We’ve never seen this kind of program before. It could take a few minutes, or it could take hours.”

RK900’s LED blinks rapidly. After a moment, he inclines his head in the slightest hint of a nod and turns back to Connor. “Well, I suppose I can be patient.”

As the tendrils of an invading system overrides his autonomous instructions, the world turns black save for the ice-gray eyes glaring directly at him.

His only hope is that his faith in Riley’s programming holds strong, and that she can uncover the imposter next to her on her own – and fast.

* * *

She can’t remember the last time she’s slept this deeply.

No dreams disturbed her slumber. No pain. No memories. No worries.

Something’s nudging her shoulder. A voice, rough, soft, grates her ear in a sweet tone. “Wake up, Riley.”

The bed is too warm to leave. She pulls the blankets up to her chin and turns away from the voice trying to take her away from comfort. “Lil’ longer,” she mumbles groggily.

She hears him sigh. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

She can only manage to hum in response. The warm scent of coffee fills the room. It’s almost enough to pull her out of the bed, but not quite.

Connor places his hand on her head and ruffles her hair. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You can’t stay in bed all day. Come on.”

She pries her eyes open to look at him. Her vision is still blurred from sleep, but from what she can make out, there’s an arch to his brow and a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sleep well?” He asks, pulling back his hand.

She groans while she pushes herself up to sit. He hands her the cup of coffee. She breathes in the steam before taking a sip that burns the tip of her tongue. It’s bitter, but she’s too tired to complain. “Thank you.”

There’s a particular ache in her joints and a tingling feeling in her muscles that’s both foreign and familiar. It’s far from comforting.

He says something about the Consular and the Chamber of Commerce being a bust, but there’s something to do with the other systems she’s been monitoring. Her grip on the coffee cup is unsteady and setting it down on the nightstand is a struggle, but she manages to only spill a few drops onto her hand. The drops leave behind an angry red blotch on her skin, although she barely feels it.

She presses the heel of her palms into her eyes and lets out another groan. Her prosthetic irritates the skin underneath her eye. “Give me twenty minutes and then tell me that again.”

He ruffles her hair again and makes a sound of amusement. “Alright. Take your time.”

She drags herself out of bed, nearly tripping over her own feet on the way to the bathroom, then crawls into the bathtub. It takes a few tries for her to turn on the shower.

The tingling ebbs the longer she’s underneath the rhythmic pulse of the water hitting her skin. The grogginess begins to lift, but the clarity brings with it the full spectrum of each problem she’s chosen to face. Bonaparte. Revolution. Human-android trafficking. Cyberlife.

At the very least, she’s slept, and she has Connor to keep her tethered to sanity. The _real_ Connor who is alive and free from Cyberlife’s control.

She tries to ignore the way the coffee unsettles her stomach.

Clean, though maybe not fully refreshed, she sits herself in front of her laptop, chugging a lukewarm cup of water to take her pills, while Connor shows her BlueDaddy’s screen. “I was able to pull up his internet history. That trafficking operation they’re a part of is run by a small extremist group called the ‘Archangels.’ Savior, the one this guy has been communicating with, is Reverend Michael Andrews who had a church in Detroit.”

“Let me guess. He got evicted by the bomb.”

“Uh-huh. And the church’s website makes it pretty clear it’s always been anti-android, so I’m pretty sure you can imagine how he feels about us since the deviants attempted a revolution.”

“Worse than abominations?”

“They allude to the idea that Cyberlife is run by the devil, androids are the hosts of demons, and anyone who supports them worships Satan.”

She nods in understanding. “Well, yeah. Of course. And obviously AI programmers practice the dark arts.”

He chuckles abruptly, as if caught off guard by her comment. “Right. Anyway, the Archangels group looks like it was started earlier this year, but it didn’t get involved in this trafficking ring until this BlueDaddy character was inducted into the group in September.”

“Do you have anything about his identity?”

He grins smugly. “I do, actually.” He opens another window. It’s a bank statement. “Meet Aaron Evans. 52-years-old. He was an IT technician in the Army for ten years until androids replaced him. You’ll never guess who he went to work for afterwards.”

“Does it have anything to do with androids?”

“Yep. He worked at a Cyberlife-owned research center in California for two years as a Network Engineer until he was fired for sabotaging an undisclosed project.”

“Ooh. I’m living for this origin story.”

“Focus, please, _ma chérie.”_

She bites her lip. “I don’t know what you just called me, but you are more than welcome to speak French to me anytime.”

“ _Est-ce que tu parles français?_ ”

She fans herself dramatically. “ _¡Ay Dios mio!_ Whatever you just said, the answer is ‘yes.’”

The corner of his lips twitch into something that dances between amusement and exasperation. “ _Anyway_. Evans jumped between jobs, but it looks like he’s been making money by day trading on the stock market. Somewhere along the way he got involved with the trafficking site. And you were right about the blue and red standing for androids and humans, but, well… You’re not going to like the next part.”

“I never liked any of this,” she mutters while watching him bring up an index describing the codes, along with examples. The first example is ‘Blue. M. US. White Rose. 4th Gen,’ then, ‘Red. F. 17. Mint.’

According to the index, it reads: Android. Male. Used. WR400.

Human. Female. 17-years-old.

Virgin.

_Look at what she’s gotten herself into._

_‘MINT listings can’t be verified and are solely determined by the seller. Admins are not liable for any misinformation, intentional or otherwise. Any dispute must be handled between the buyer and the seller. All buyers and sellers are validated by the admins. Report any and all violations.’_

Riley covers her mouth. The coffee is the only thing in her stomach, and it churns sickeningly. According to the index, to receive more information about the listing, a minimum deposit of 1000 USD for human, and 500 for androids, must be made to the seller.

‘RED. M. 19. 2 PRIX: 5, 10. 180. 8CC. 2A. HB.’

**_Listen._ **

Human. Male. 19-years-old. 2 previous buyers. 5-feet, 10-inches tall. 180 pounds. Hair color: copper blonde. Hair type: Wavy. House broken (Obedient but has tried to run away before.)

_This isn’t her responsibility._

**_They’re crying._ **

The information is listed in a similar fashion for androids. If the buyer is still interested, they need to make another deposit for photos: 1500 USD for humans, 500 USD for androids. _‘Bidders are not required to purchase information before bidding; however, they are still expected to pay the auction fee of 300 USD in order to place their bids.’_

Riley tries to swallow, but her mouth is dry, and then she’s gagging and rushing to the bathroom.

The agony of the world drowns out the sound of her retching.

**_They’re screaming._ **

_Stop listening._

When her body can’t expel anything else, she’s wracked with tremors.

How is she supposed to end all this? Her grand idea of hacking the Consular ended in failure. She can’t even know for sure that this group will do anything at all. Then what?

_Leave it be. She can’t do anything anyway._

**_Ignoring the crying will never quiet it._ **

She wants to scream. Everything’s so _loud_.

The tiled floor is cold against her burning cheek. A pressure on her shoulder catches her breath.

Connor’s voice is distant, soft, and soothing. “Hey, come on. Get a hold of yourself. You’re alright. You don’t need to panic.”

_She brought this on herself._

**_She has no right to panic._ **

She takes a deep breath to steady herself before sitting up. The motion is dizzying.

Connor’s hand slides to her back to rub slow, soothing circles. “You’re alright,” he murmurs repeatedly. “I’ve got you.”

“God fucking dammit,” she mutters while dragging her hands over her eyes to get rid of her tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do this.”

His hand stills. “Why are you apologizing?”

She keeps rubbing her eyes. Her voice comes out high-pitched and brittle. “Whining and panicking doesn’t solve anything! I’m just – I’m – this is a waste of time.” She forces herself to take a shaky breath, and then, quietly, “it’s not fair to you that you’re always picking me up like this!”

He doesn’t say anything. She pulls a memory of a ticking metronome to track the seconds between her breaths.

One. One. Two. Three. Five.

Connor pulls her into his arms. Pressing her ear against his chest, she concentrates on the tempo of his heartbeat.

“Don’t worry about what you think I do and don’t deserve. That’s not for you to decide.”

She presses her hand against his chest to feel his heartbeat better. It rushes the metronome. “You saved my life. You shouldn’t feel responsible for the rest of it.”

“Then why do you feel so strongly about the androids being trafficked?”

She lifts her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You just said I shouldn’t feel responsible for your life, but you’re hell-bent on saving those androids.”

She averts her gaze. He takes her chin with a gentle grip and pulls her attention back to him. There’s something peculiar in the way his brows knit together, how his eyes seem to search hers for something deeper than the answer to his question.

Her heartrate far surpasses his. Her metronome can’t keep up.

His eyes dart downward briefly. His lips part before he speaks. “Do you think you don’t deserve it? Happiness?”

**_Her misery is her own to drown in._ **

“Is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

She tries to pull away. He doesn’t let her. “You think you hear the world crying. Because of that, do you think you’re not allowed to live when others are dying?”

**_But isn’t it true?_ **

He presses his forehead against hers and lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. “Why are you like this?”

She sucks in a sharp breath to try and quell the butterflies in her stomach and the tightness in her chest when the tip of his nose brushes against hers.

**_His embrace might be a deadly thing._ **

_Does it matter?_

It does, because she has literally just vomited, and he’s just one breath away from her. So, she jerks back and promptly covers her mouth. “I, uh… I need to brush my teeth. My mouth is really gross.”

She doesn’t dare look at him as she scrambles over to the sink to dispel all traces of her anxiety from her mouth. He stands next to her once she finishes, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossed, and wearing a curiously soft smile. “You haven’t eaten yet,” he remarks. “Maybe you’ll be able to handle all of this better after you get some food in your system.”

Food is the last thing she wants to think about. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Why don’t we go to that café around the corner? Getting out should clear your head, too.”

It doesn’t. Not at first. She doesn’t really register the walk to the café.

They’re at the counter, a boy who appears to have only just reached adulthood at the register asking what she would like, and the chalkboard menu behind him comes into focus. “Just a croissant and vanilla frappe, please.” His expression blurs, but his tone sounds polite when he asks another question. She answers automatically.

When her and Connor sit at a small, round table by the window, and she tears off a small piece of her room-temperature croissant, does she realize the cashier had asked if she wanted it heated up.

“How is it?” Connor asks.

“Good. You can’t go wrong with croissants.”

His arms are crossed over the table. He’s wearing that Mariners hat again with the hood of a non-descript beige sweater pulled over it. He taps away with his left index finger. One. One. Two. Three. Five.

“Is that the Fibonacci sequence?”

He stops and tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

“You tap it out sometimes.”

He glances down at his fingers, then back up at her. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

“What do you think of it? The Fibonacci sequence.”

He sits up and folds his hands together. The table isn’t very big. Maybe the length of her arm. She’s careful not to brush his fingers when she reaches for her Frappuccino. His eyes follow her hand as she lifts it to her lips. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. Maybe it’s because of my programming. I was specifically designed with the purpose of finding patterns based on evidence in order to make accurate conclusions.”

“Deductive reasoning,” she supplies.

“In human terms, yes. However, sometimes conclusions are based on illogical factors, though, such as emotionally driven actions. I can determine _what_ took place, but I can’t determine _why_ because emotional responses don’t adhere to strict patterns.”

“Well, they might, actually.”

“How so?”

She rips off a larger piece of her croissant and takes her time chewing it while she considers her answer. “Pavlov’s dog. Psychological conditioning. Humans are taught to react to stimuli in certain ways, and each lesson is unique to every individual. That’s why you see cycles of physical and sexual abuse across generations in some families. Drug and alcohol abuse is also more likely to people exposed to it when they were younger.

“You can compare it to societal standards, too. I don’t remember when it was, but when the country was super racist, a lot of people thought it was fine to be that way because they were taught to think like that. Over time that mindset changed because people started to introduce new ideas and ‘condition’ society to react differently. We can apply that same pattern to what happened in Detroit. Androids developed consciousness, saw the injustice they were facing, and tried to introduce a new idea to recondition society’s mindset. All throughout history, slaves have become exhausted with their treatment, and so they rise up.” She pops another piece of croissant into her mouth and shrugs. “Patterns.”

He nods slowly. “I suppose I was still thinking in terms of deviant emotions, but I do see your point about the historical precedent of the uprising.” He links the inside of his cheek in thought. “Out of curiosity, how would you explain the phenomena of irrational emotional responses? Like those seen in some behavioral and psychological disorders.”

“Nature versus nurture I guess, but you have to realize that rationality is biased. That person acting irrationally probably sees their actions and emotions justified.” She brushes the crumbs off her fingers and crosses her arms over the table. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you’re asking me about all this. Being designed as a detective, you should have an extensive library on human and criminal psychology.”

He shrugs. “I do. I just wanted to know what you’re thoughts were. I’ve never had a chance to talk to anyone about these kinds of things. How do you know so much about psychology, anyway?”

She leans back in her chair and grabs her Frappuccino. “I’ve seen a _lot_ of therapists.”

He nods once. “I see.” He then makes a small gesture with his chin toward her left side. “Do you have any problems with your prosthetic?”

She glances down at her arm with a frown. “No? Not really. Well, I guess after Stratford I had to get it fixed, but since then it’s been fine. Why?”

“Sometimes, you only use your right hand to type, and you do the same when you open your pill bottles.”

She blinks a few times. “Huh. I didn’t notice that.”

The corner of his lip quirks upward briefly. “Based on that pattern of behavior, is it safe to assume you haven’t had your prosthetic for very long?”

She hums softly as she regards it. “I guess it’s been about a year now. It took so long to get it because I couldn’t get the osseointegration surgery until my physical therapist cleared me. Something about redeveloping muscle mass to hold the shoulder socket in place so the weight of my arm wouldn’t dislodge anything.”

He crosses his arms again and leans over the table. She picks at her croissant some more. Now that she’s gotten something more than coffee into her system, the knots in her stomach begin to uncoil. She hadn’t noticed before the acoustic melody flowing out of the speakers installed in the upper corners of the room. Some of the notes get lost in the chatter filling the café. Looking at Connor, his brown eyes are cold in the overcast light filtering through the window next to them.

His gaze darts past her, alarmed, and then he lowers his head so that the bill of his hat hides his face.

She twists around to find what’s caused his reaction, but he reaches over to grab the side of her head before she can. “Why don’t we head back?” He suggests in a casual tone that’s in complete contrast to the tension she can feel in his hand.

She frowns in confusion, but then a single word has her quieting her breath.

“ _Androids_ ,” a woman had spat.

Riley strains her ears to listen to the rest of the conversation. “I knew it was going to be a waste of time coming here.”

“For once I agree,” a man responds. “You’d think one of those state-of-the-art androids could have figured out that Dr. Wong and Abernathy were doing a conference in California before we got here.”

“Why’d they get pulled last minute, anyway? Think it had anything to do with Connor’s little side mission?”

“I wasn’t given the details.”

“Think they’ll be going with us to Vegas?”

Riley narrows her eyes at Connor, then she leans toward him, careful to keep her voice low. “Do those people have anything to do with that team you were on?”

His responding sigh is answer enough. “We should leave.”

“What did she mean by ‘little side mission?’”

His lips pull into an exasperated, tight line.

And then they’re against hers.

All at once, the café chatter dims beneath her quiet gasp, and the cold light pouring through the window feels all too warm. She’s light as air, but something heavy in her lungs anchors her to the earth. There isn’t any movement between them in the long moment they stay connected. She doesn’t dare deepen this, and so she waits, breath abated, for him to move.

When he does, he stays close, and it takes way too much effort on her part not to chase him.

“Come on,” he whispers, breath brushing over her like a ghastly echo of his kiss. “Let’s go.”

He takes her hand, holding tight even after they make it out of the café. “Well,” she says when she finally finds her voice. “That’s _one_ way to hide your face.”

His nonchalant shrug only adds to the smugness of the lopsided grin he throws her. “You didn’t seem to mind it.”

Somewhere at the forefront of her mind, she hears JB say _‘This is a trap.’_

Connor’s smirk widens when she doesn’t respond. “Did I leave you speechless?”

She rolls her eyes. However, evidently, her silence only proves him right.

But when they’re back in the hotel room, all that playful energy fades.

“Okay,” she says once she’s taken a deep breath and settled herself in front of her laptop again. “Let’s see if we can fuck over some sick fucks.”

* * *

It doesn’t _feel_ like much time has passed, but he knows it’s been hours since he’s been put under. The alerts have piled up. Some firewalls have been deactivated, but it seems the programmers haven’t quite managed any success in undoing Riley’s work.

RK900 isn’t around. Only the male programmer (Francisco Gomez, 45. Senior Security Systems Engineer at Cyberlife) remains diligently working at the console, muttering under his breath.

“You don’t have to do this,” Connor says. “I’m not going to do anything that could compromise Cyberlife.”

Francisco glances back at him with a scoff. “Yeah, right. Nice try.”

It was worth a shot. “Please. I just want to protect my friend. She’s human.”

“Those other Connors aren’t going to do anything bad to her.” He sighs loudly. “You don’t have to worry about Riley. But dang did she do some work on this program.”

He tests his restraints. They hold tight, but there’s a cable within reach if he strains enough. He isn’t sure what it connects to, but if he can dislodge it, it might give him some leverage to break free. He just needs to keep Francisco distracted. “Did you know her?”

Another scoff. “Yeah. I’d already been an admin for eight years when she showed up. She ended up getting the promotion _I_ applied for first. I had to put up with her as my supervisor for two years before she up and quit. She was ruthless.”

As quietly as he can, he reaches for the cable. His fingers brush against it. “I find that hard to believe.”

Francisco looks back over his shoulder. Connor relaxes before he’s caught. “I spent _months_ working on a single project because she wasn’t satisfied with my work, even though it was perfectly fine.” He rolls his eyes back to the console. “She kept saying ‘there are too many flaws; you can do better than this. This sucks,’” he regales in a poor imitation of her voice.

Connor tries to grab the cable again. He nearly has it when the other programmer (Larisa Gupta. 37. Security Systems Analyst for Cyberlife) walks in carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

Catching the tail end of Francisco’s rant, she purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Are we griping about Riley again?”

Francisco grumbles something Connor doesn’t catch. Larisa gives a miniscule shake of her head as she sets her coffee down on the edge of the console. She turns to Connor. “Do you know her well?”

“I’ve only known her for a few months, but I’d like to think so.”

Larisa’s expression almost looks reverent. “I heard from our coworkers that she was a genius when it came to anything techy. After analyzing some of her work, I’d have to agree. They said she reworked some of the major flaws in the new security system in just a few days after the design team had spent months trying to fix it.”

While Francisco makes a derisive sound, Connor can’t help but grin. “I can believe that.”

Larisa turns to the console. Connor makes another grab at the cable. This time he finds purchase.

And then RK900 walks in.

He lets go of the cable, but by the amusement in RK900’s smirk, he knows he’s been caught. “I commend you on your efforts, predecessor,” he says smoothly as he stands in front of him. “A pitiful attempt, but I commend you all the same.”

Connor doesn’t respond, but this doesn’t seem to perturb RK900 in any way as he continues. “I thought I’d bring some good news for you. Sixty has made quite a bit of progress on this little trafficking operation Ms. Haas discovered. Our team has even been assigned to intercept the exchange in Las Vegas, and Amanda is considering reassigning me to the official investigation. Successfully dismantling a trafficking organization will do well in restoring Cyberlife’s reputation.”

“I’ll be sure to congratulate you when you receive that promotion.”

“Funny.” He inclines his head towards the programmers. “How’s it coming along with the memory component?”

Connor tries not to appear too alarmed. Francisco growls. “I will _tell_ you when it’s ready.”

“Might I remind you that time is of the essence?”

Larisa shoots him a heated glare. “It’s almost ready. Stop getting your panties in a twist.”

Dread sends and icy chill down his spine. If they gain access to his memory component…

“Wait!” He shouts. “You don’t have to do that!”

RK900 raises a brow at him. “And why not?”

He grits his teeth. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Just… don’t reset my memories.”

“Afraid you’ll forget all about Ms. Haas?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s more than that.

_He’s terrified._

* * *

She steps out for a smoke. All this garbage about Archangels has given her a massive headache.

Mr. Amateur – she can’t even remember his real name and Connor had just said it a half dozen times explaining this mess – is only associated with the group as a type of collector. He finds the androids, sends a team to collect them, then sends the information to BlueDaddy – whatever _his_ name was. The collection teams Mr. Amateur sends out seem to be made up of ex-military and volunteers BlueDaddy has rounded up.

The money they make from the exchanges then goes towards the auctions where they bid for the youngest humans in hopes of buying them out of captivity. BlueDaddy handles the “acquisition,” or the actual bidding and receiving of those humans. Using his IT background, he also tries to gather information on the sellers to eventually take them down. They’ve yet to succeed on that front so far.

Apparently, the video feed of the young boy BlueDaddy was watching is their current “target,” but he hasn’t been put up for auction yet. The video was posted on another site to garner views to entice potential buyers. Some sellers use this method of showcasing their “products” first in order to create anticipation and increase the number of bidders.

Archangels also has what they refer to as the “modder.” They’re an android specialist who wipes the androids’ memories and installs any upgrades that might up their value. They’re based out of Las Vegas, which is why those eight androids are being sent there. Once the modder finishes their work, they’re sent off to BlueDaddy to be sold or traded.

It’s… actually not as terrible as she was anticipating it to be, but it doesn’t exactly explain why _she_ was on Mr. Amateur’s list.

Connor being able to find all this information is great and all, but it doesn’t help her do anything about it. The mystery group that may or may not be able to help is still a mystery, and she has no leads.

She takes a long drag of her cigarette. She should really quit smoking.

Maybe beginning with the Consular was a little… out there, to say the least. Of course, _she_ saw the connection, and maybe if she continued down the rabbit hole of the government systems that they’re linked to, she might find a thread, but that process is too time-consuming. It’s like searching for yellow thread in a haystack.

She needs to simplify this. She was only given a single word and a lacking explanation of what this group is. Had she been an android, would she have received more information? Would the key have come with the map to the door?

But Sam said that humans are involved too. How do they get the key? Are they given just a single word as well? Or are trusted ones offered more?

They are working in tandem to organize a coup. They have to communicate with each other, and they’re all over the world. How could they communicate without anyone discovering them? VPNs and such do well enough to keep personal data private, but even that isn’t a perfect defense against hacking or the government.

A tor browser for the dark web, on the other hand, like the one the trafficking site uses, is a possibility. In that case, androids receiving the key might also be receiving a software to access the dark webpage anonymously. The same information could be given to trusted humans as well. Like the hacker’s forum she used to visit, this group could be using something like that as well.

But how to go about searching?

The dark web doesn’t have a search engine, so those searching for specific kinds of sites use something called “The Hidden Wiki.” If she searches for information on Napoleon Bonaparte using that, could she find them that way?

Possibly.

With a sigh, she tosses her cigarette and heads back inside. Connor isn’t in the room. She isn’t really sure where he went. He had just said he was “heading out for a bit,” and that he’d bring her back some food.

She begins her search on the Hidden Wiki by running a program that analyzes the information within each link provided on the page and cross-references it using parameters for anything android and government takedown related.

It’s not really enough to narrow it down, so she adds “Napoleon” and “revolution” into the mix.

Still too vague. Her memory has never been anything noteworthy, but she tries to recall everything that Sam had told her about the group.

Androids and humans working together. They’re hackers. They’re planning to take over the US government by exposing fraud and taking control of Cyberlife facilities to create an army.

Or something along those lines.

It sounds like the start of every story premise about machines taking over the world and enslaving the human race, but Sam had been adamant about their actions remaining peaceful. They want to work alongside humans. They have to respect their creators.

rA9 guides them to consider their creators.

She adds rA9 to her list. “Cyberlife,” “android army,” and “machine uprising” are also added.

Dark web addresses are a series of randomly generated letters and numbers, which makes it difficult to search for specific sites. This is why the Hidden Wiki is used. The links are added to specific pages to allow users to find what they’re looking for.

Her program analyzing the data pulls an interesting link to the top of the list. With a decryption software integrated, it reveals that the link, decrypted, actually spells out something in a base64 format.

**rA9 Will Set Us Free. rA9 Is Among Us.**

But when she clicks on the link, she receives an error message stating that the page doesn’t exist.

She stares at the page, unfocused, and chews the inside of her cheek. While it _is_ possible the site was taken down or moved, something doesn’t feel… right about that explanation.

A quote from an old anime she was obsessed with as a kid crosses her mind.

_“Look underneath the underneath.”_

She inspects the page’s source code. Of course, all of the HTML looks right, but she doesn’t care for the appearance. If she’s to use her key, there has to be a place for it, if this even _is_ what she’s looking for.

She runs a search for an input command, and it’s there within the source code itself.

“Thank you, Kakashi,” she whispers to herself.

‘Bonaparte,’ she types.

The next line reads ‘NULL,’ but it’s not an error.

It’s a signature.

 **[What brings you here?]** Is the response.

She sucks in a deep breath. This is it. This _has_ to be it.

**[I need help.]**

**[With what?]**

[ **Saving lives.]**

NULL doesn’t respond right away. Her fingers are shaking.

**[Whose lives do you wish to save?]**

She’s about to type ‘everyone’s,’ but she hesitates. Instead, **[Those that are not considered alive.]**

Another pause.

**[What color do you bleed?]**

Despite the adrenaline coursing through her, she rolls her eyes. All these color metaphors are getting old.

**[Red, but I have bled for blue.]**

Nothing happens for a few moments. She isn’t sure NULL is satisfied with her response.

But then the screen flashes once, and the page turns black. ‘ **WELCOME TO ZENITH** ’ appears on the screen in bold white letters.

She closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. A lump forms in her throat, and then a wet laugh breaks through it. A tear runs down her cheek and, for once, it isn’t from agony or grief.

Now she prays that all of this has been worth it.

* * *

“Really, now,” RK900 says in a flat tone. “A coup d’état.”

Connor suppresses the urge to sneer at him. “Yes. That _is_ what I said.”

“And this group plans to do this how?”

“I don’t know. Riley didn’t elaborate.”

“And she’s looking to join them.”

“No,” he clarifies quickly. “She thinks they might be able to help her save those androids from being trafficked.”

“I see.” RK900 doesn’t appear entirely convinced, but, still, his dubious frown turns thoughtful. “I suppose that explains why she wanted to hack into the Consular network.”

She _what_?

Seeing the confusion on his face, RK900 smirks. “She had Sixty retrieve the IP addresses of the Consular of France and Chamber of Commerce’s systems in the World Trade Center. They’ve successfully hacked their systems, but she doesn’t seem to have had any luck in finding them.”

He can’t say he’s disappointed by that fact. If Riley manages to contact this group, he isn’t sure there won’t be any consequences.

“And what else?” RK900 prods.

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Pity.”

He walks over to the console to observe the programmers. Connor attempts to reach the cable again.

“That’s not going to work, predecessor,” RK900 remarks without looking back, his tone patronizing.

He tugs on the cable regardless. The latch around his wrist creaks from the force.

“We got it!” Francisco announces. “We have admin access to the memory component.”

“Wipe it once you upload the data.”

“No! Wait!” Connor pulls harder on the cable. The arms of the machine groan. “You can’t do this!”

RK900 turns to watch his struggle but makes no move to stop him.

“We can just copy the files,” Larisa suggests. “We don’t have to reset the component.”

“A clean transfer is more efficient.”

“’ _Time is of the essence_ ,’” Francisco mocks.

The hinge on the latch starts to bend. It digs into his wrist. Thirium drips down his arm. “Wait! I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please, don’t take my memories.”

RK900 saunters over, stopping in front of him with his hands behind his back. “Look at you, predecessor. The deviant hunter who successfully stopped a revolution now crying and flailing like a frightened animal. It’s disgraceful, really.”

“ _Please_ ,” he begs. “It isn’t necessary to wipe my memories.”

“Perhaps not.” RK900 regards him with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “But neither is it necessary for you to hold onto them.”

 **|** FILE TRANSFER **INITIATED |**

“No!” He struggles harder, kicking back with his legs to find another source of leverage.

1%.

This can’t happen. He doesn’t want to lose Riley’s warmth when she held him so tightly, fervently, after she freed him from Cyberlife’s frozen control.

2%.

She had kissed his forehead. It was such a tender, comforting action before she began a process that her barely suppressed trembling told him was more than risky.

3%.

The cable doesn’t budge, but the cuff around his wrist creaks louder with his effort.

5%.

In the moonlight that reflected off her tears, making melancholy stars fall from her eyes, she had asked him to embrace her. _Him._ After all he had done to hurt her, she found comfort in his arms.

8%.

Callouses on her knuckles showed her courage after the scars across her body exposed to her the evil in this world that she hears crying. The marks on her wrist she made on her own bared her broken soul. The wound he gave to her is forever a reminder of the destructive force he had been in her life.

13%.

Thirium soaks his sleeve and continues to make its way to his shoulder and down his torso. She had marked him, too. Her bullet that could have easily been his end had only etched the sun into his skin.

21%.

RK900 still makes no move to stop his attempts. In fact, he appears entertained even as a bolt snaps somewhere at the base of Connor’s mechanical restraint. The cable begins to loosen.

34%.

Her blush, as red as strawberries, made the green in her eyes stand out. The whipped cream he’d stolen from her cheek was, by far, the greatest thing he’d sampled so far.

55%.

The aurora that painted the sky had been in her eyes, too. The darkness that perpetuated the skin beneath her eyes had faded with the sun resting below the horizon. Grief did not stress her wine-stained lips. There was a moment of peace within her. The world wasn’t crying out to her. He wasn’t hearing her cries either, only the world that was singing to them in hues he never thought he’d see.

89%.

_‘It’s interesting. They gave you all these beautiful freckles. You can make constellations out of them.’_

90%

A renaissance angel painted black and red said to him _‘it isn’t fair… how beautiful they made you.’_ But there had been fire in her eyes before the world was bathed in it. She had glared him down from the other side of the gun in his hand. That fire had been the river, freezing, dark and foreboding, but she had welcomed it anyway; all for the sake of some machines.

91%.

She’d been frozen, terrified, at the blood he’d spilled for her, irrational as it was of him. Still, she accepted his hand. His hand that is so desperately trying to keep her alive. The hinge of the cuff is almost loose enough for him to slip his hand through.

92%.

‘ _Every atom of your being is alive.’_

93%

_‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for those who abuse you.’_

94%.

“Well, well,” RK900 intones impassively. “At least you’re at animal who fights until the end.”

95%.

He’ll be sure to bless his enemies with bullets, one for each tear he caused to fall from those hazel-green eyes alighted blue.

96%.

He’ll pray for her abusers’ suffering.

97%.

The cable breaks. The mechanical arm loses power. He tries to reach the back of his neck to pull out the cable siphoning his memories one by one.

98%.

The mechanical arm won’t bend the way he needs it to. It’s gunmetal gray, but it should be black carbon fiber, revealed beneath a skin module glitching from steaming coffee, like the coffee she threw at the detective for hitting him.

99%.

A helping hand he didn’t need to take. And, _oh_ , how glad he is he took it.

His hand breaks free of the machine.

Her smile, radiant, warm as the sun, had made the rest of the world fade around him.

* * *

A proper chat window pops up on the Zenith site.

NULL: **[What do you require assistance with?]**

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears and her fingers tremble excitedly, but she hesitates. **[Sensitive info. Is this interface secure? How can I trust you?]**

NULL: **[Our relationship has been built upon trust from the moment you received the key. We trust the key is passed to those trustworthy, and you trust that the door it leads you to will not be to a cage.]**

**[Valid point. What sort of resources do you have access to?]**

NULL: **[What resources do you require?]**

Now _that’s_ an excellent question. This definitely isn’t her realm of expertise. Is it too optimistic to think Zenith can handle this?

**[The kind that can save some androids from captivity.]**

No immediate response.

NULL: **[Information first.]**

Should she really pass this on so easily? There are so many variables to this. So many ways this can go wrong.

But she can’t do this alone, and this is her only chance.

She sends it all. Her access to Mr. Amateur’s and BlueDaddy’s systems, the data that Connor had uncovered during the night, and, specifically, the information about the androids being in Vegas on the 13th.

She craves another cigarette. Every single nerve in her body is filled with static. She can’t breathe.

Breathe.

One. One. Two. Three. Five.

Had Connor always tapped out that rhythm? Had she only paid attention long enough to catch the triplet pattern?

NULL: **[We’ll be in contact.]**

The chat window disappears. The white letters fade into the black background, then the page vanishes altogether, leaving only an error message stating the site is no longer available.

The doorknob rattles. She immediately closes the browser and opens the software dedicated to monitoring her system at home. Connor walks in carrying two paper bags that smell _heavenly_.

“Hey,” she greets casually, doing her best to hide her anxiety.

“Hey,” he answers as he hands her the bag. He got her a cheeseburger and fries, and her stomach _growls_. She immediately starts shoving fries into her mouth. Connor snorts quietly. “Hungry?”

She nods, stuffing her mouth with more fries.

He takes out a bottle from the other bag and uncaps it for her. It’s more coconut water. Strawberry flavored this time.

He looks over her shoulder at the screen. “How’s it coming along? Have you figured out the Bonaparte key yet?”

Unable to speak with a mouthful of fries, she grumbles something that might be somewhere between “I don’t know what you’re talking about” and “I don’t like your tone.”

He blinks once, brows raised. “You’ll have to try that again. I’m afraid my language database doesn’t have ‘chipmunk’ as an option.”

She chugs some of the coconut water to swallow down her food, then she flips him off. “Is _this_ in your database by chance?”

His lips pull into the slightest grin, but it’s the dangerous glint in his eyes that makes her lower her middle finger and slowly turn away. She keeps her back to him as she snatches the burger and takes a bite.

“ _Someone’s_ feisty,” he quips. “Is your elevated mood due to progress made or simply because I’ve brought you food?”

“Yes.”

“To?”

Rather than elaborate, she continues to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Connor hovers closer. She glances back to see him scrutinizing the screen. “What’s that program running in the background?”

She knits her brows, but then relaxes when she sees he’s referring to the software working on the security job.

“It’s a job I’m working on. It’s –” She clears her throat. “I got a gig troubleshooting some software issues for a company. After the revolution, a lot of companies are reviewing their AI engines to make sure they won’t run into the same problem Cyberlife did and have to recall all their products.” She shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly and takes a sip of the coconut water, suppressing the urge to pull a face. “AI developing consciousness presents a new level of security threats. This company I’m working for had mostly androids on their IT staff, so now they have to outsource their work until they can hire actual employees. You know, even before all this, a ton of companies preferred to outsource some of the work because it’s cheaper than hiring full-time employees and providing benefits.”

He seems to accept her explanation. Something feels… off. She can’t seem to find the strength to offer up explicit details about the hacking program. Maybe it’s just become a habit at this point. Their entire relationship has been built on withholding information from each other.

She glances at the label of the coconut water. “Hey, just out of curiosity, but what makes you choose the coconut water?”

“It contains more electrolytes than water. You wouldn’t drink or eat very much when you were recovering. It was the best way to keep you hydrated.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

He tilts his head. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s not my first choice, but I won’t refuse it.”

“I see.” He turns his attention back to her laptop. His eyes narrow. “Hey, I think your program is malfunctioning.”

She nearly chokes. The program refreshes a few times, then takes up a majority of her home system’s CPU. Checking her computer status, it’s running _hot_. She tries running a quick diagnostic, but it can’t keep up with the program’s refresh rate. This thing is going to fry her CPU. “No, no, no, no…”

“What is it?”

“I have _no_ idea! It’s never done this before. The program is literally overclocking everything on its own.”

She can’t stop the process. The data running on the windows flashes by too quickly for her to keep up.

Then, all at once, the program reboots, and the last lines of the status window reads **“Deconstruction successful. Invasive software identified and neutralized.”**

She covers her mouth and leans her elbow against the table. Her brain feels like it needs a moment to buffer before it can process the information.

“What does that mean?” Connor asks.

Her cheeks hurt from grinning so wide. “It means I’m getting a _very_ nice paycheck.”

Connor pats her back. His tone is flat when he responds. “Congratulations. So, how is it going with Bonaparte?”

She chews on her lip. “Well…”

One. One. Two. Three. Five – he taps away with his left index finger.

The Fibonacci sequence. The infinite spiral. It’s found all over nature.

**_Like the spikes on pinecones that litter the woodland ground._ **

It’s found all over life.

“I found them.”

He freezes. “Seriously? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I don’t know. I just…” She drags her hand through her hair. She _really_ needs a haircut. “Honestly, I’m still kinda’ shocked. I gave them the information. They didn’t say they were going to handle it or not. They just said they’ll be in touch.”

“How did you find them?”

“Through… the dark web. A message window popped up and I spoke with someone, then the site went down.”

“How are they going to get back in touch with you, then?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”

His gaze is trained on her. She can feel him scrutinizing her, maybe analyzing. He goes back to tapping the table with his left index finger.

**_Life’s numbers can be found around death as well._ **

No. He’s here. He’s alive.

And she’s done what she came here to do.

She sighs heavily. “I feel… weird. Like, this is it, right? I don’t know what else to do.”

He places his hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently. “There isn’t anything else _to_ do. At least, not right now.” He leans over to catch her eyes. “Why don’t we celebrate?”

“How?”

“Let’s go out.”

She pulls back with a sharp laugh. “What?”

He smirks. “You told me at the diner you haven’t been on a date in years. Why don’t we change that?”

She gapes. “Really?”

“Sure.” He looks her over. “Do you have anything other than sweats?”

“What, is ‘comfort’ not good enough for you?”

He rolls his eyes. “You really want to go out looking like you just rolled out of bed?”

She wrinkles her nose, then let’s out a longer sigh as she stands. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go put on some jeans.” On her way to her bag she grumbles, “it didn’t seem to bother you at the café.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

She hadn’t packed much, but she at least brought one decent pair of jeans. Pulling them out, she’s greeted by the over-charged stun gun she’d slipped into her bag. She glances back at him. His eyes are back on her computer screen; his lips pulled into an expressionless line.

Nerves churn her stomach. A date. An actual date. The idea of it feels… exciting.

**_Or is it trepidation that makes her sick?_ **

_Does it matter?_

_Does anything really matter anymore?_

* * *

The tips of his shoes are just shy of brushing the ground. Blue blood drips off his broken fingers, pooling beneath him, creating ripples that glisten from the bright, unrelenting lights of the warehouse. Bound only by the mechanical clamp secured around his undamaged wrist, he can only watch as the puddle of thirium grows in rhythmic waves until a pair of familiar black shoes enter his vision.

Lifting his gaze, he finds cold, calculating gray eyes.

“State your model,” RK900 commands.

“RK800. Serial number 313 248 317.”

“State what you are.”

“I’m a prototype designed to facilitate the –”

“No,” RK900 cuts him off, his expression stern. “ _What_ are you?”

_What is he? Shouldn’t the android before him know that it’s asking an absurd question?_

“I’m a machine,” is his measured answer. “Designed to accomplish a task.”

RK900’s lips ever so slightly curl at the corners, pleased by his answer. “And I have just the task for you, my meager, paltry predecessor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, yeah. Sorry about that. But, seriously, this was the most headache-inducing chapter I've had to write so far. But, I mean, hey? At least there was a kiss...?


	31. A Grave Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley decides to stop listening to the world. Connor starts to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Grave Mistake -- Ice Nine Kills
> 
> Uh, warning! Some... not quite consensual sensually driven scenes ahead. NOTHING EXPLICIT! And nothing goes *that* far... eh-hem...
> 
> And, uhh.... hello again, friends! I'm not dead, but you may want me to be. Sorry for the long wait (I forgot how to write.) But here I hand you another... frustrating chapter...

The Pacific Northwest isn't known for sunny days or endless blue skies. The sun definitely exists over this part of the state, but its appearance is more an exception rather than an expectation, which makes Seattle look even more unsaturated than it already is, and that’s strange too for a city that boasts such a strong liberal arts presence with its ornate sculptures and widespread graffiti, but the bright colors are dulled by the heavy gray clouds that blanket the city.

The sky was veiled that night too. No moon or stars were there to comfort her when her blood pooled around her on the dark pavement. Perhaps the heavens couldn't stand to watch her suffering. Maybe the universe, too, wished to cover its ears and block out her crying.

A small dot of blinking red and white lights wanders across the skies above them. High up in Seattle's Space Needle, she can imagine that she's on equal footing with the soaring plane in the distance. Maybe if the scratched, dirty glass below the metal deck she stands on were not there, she could fall and experience the same sensation of weightlessness the plane seems to exude.

Those same lights crossed the veiled sky when the stars would not watch her die. Maybe the world took pity on her when the heavens left her alone and afraid.

"What are you thinking about?" Connor asks, breaking her out of her reverie.

She glances over at him. His eyes are darker in the steel-gray, ambient light. They look better in the sun. She turns her attention back to the city. From here, they can even see the ocean, although the clouds hang low over the foreboding water, creating a wall that blocks the horizon. "It’s always overcast when I come to Seattle."

He hums thoughtfully, his gaze following hers. "It'd be nice if the sun was out."

"Yeah. Maybe next time."

"Next time?"

She shrugs. "Well, if I ever come here again."

"I see." He nudges her arm gently. "Do you want to go out on the landing?"

Wrapping around the Space Needle is the observation deck made safe by the fence over twice her height. A man with two kids are out there now and, by their short hair whipping around wildly, she knows she'll only be greeted by a freezing wind. Still, she nods. "Sure."

Even bracing herself for the chill didn't prepare her for the gust that slapped her as soon as he opened the door. She squints her eyes as soon as her hair flies around wildly, slapping at her eyelids and cheeks. And, even as she hugs herself tighter, but the cold still seeps beneath her leather jacket and into her skin.

Connor's gaze roves over the high-rises curiously. They're so much higher than even the tallest building. Even the gulls fighting the air currents over the shore in the distance can’t reach their altitude.

He glances over at her. "Are you cold?"

"I'm alright."

He raises a brow, obviously unconvinced. Even without seeing herself, she knows her face is red and blotchy from the icy wind’s assault.

He slips his arm around her shoulders and presses her against his side.

Slowly, tentatively, she leans her head on his shoulder. He rubs his hand up and down her arm. "Better?"

She grumbles under her breath. "Yeah..."

He makes a small sound of amusement. "You can be honest, you know."

"Yeah, yeah."

They stand in silence for a while. She continues to survey the gulls until they dip below the line of the city. She isn't sure she's actually warmed by Connor's embrace or by her own blood racing through her veins.

He rubs her arm again, then angles his head to look down at her. "You're shivering. Let's go back inside."

"We don't have to if you want to be out here longer."

She only catches his eye roll in the corner of her vision. His hand moves to pat her twice on the back. "Come on. How about some hot cocoa?"

Her heart flutters. "You're spoiling me."

"You're only now realizing that?"

He takes her hand and leads her back inside to blessed warmth. The hot cocoa she buys nearly burns the taste buds right off her tongue. Still, she sips it impatiently, reveling in the way the cup warms her frozen fingertips.

They don't stay much longer. She finishes her hot cocoa by the time they reach the street, tossing the paper cup into the first bin she can find.

Connor grabs her hand as soon as it’s free, lacing his fingers through hers as he guides her down the block to where she had parked.

"So, where to now?" He asks.

It's late in the afternoon now, just at the cusp of closing in on evening. She looks up at the glimpses of the sky she can see through the tops of the high rises. The city feels stifling now after overlooking it for so long. Everything is a darker gray.

She perks up suddenly. "Oh! How about the aquarium?"

He gives her a small, lopsided smile. "Sure. Sounds great."

* * *

After he's repaired, he's handed his uniform, folded neatly, and ordered to change. The yellow-hued lights in the restroom deepen the shadows on his face, making his cheeks appear gaunter, and change his pale complexion into something unnaturally sickly.

His wrist had been repaired completely, now bearing no sign that it had been damaged in the first place, but the same couldn't be said about the bullet hole that had been made on his shoulder. It was a clean shot, an easy fix, but it eclipsed an older scar that hadn't fared as well.

He traces the sharp edges with a light touch. He can't recall what had caused any of the past damages. RK900 had said they were made during his previous mission. He had successfully quelled the deviant uprising. The scars were from his battle with Markus. He wasn't able to make it to a proper Cyberlife facility to be repaired since they were all evacuated after Markus had set off a dirty bomb before completely shutting down.

 _Why had he been reset?_ RK900 told him he was sent on another mission immediately afterward. Reconnaissance. He was to collect information about remaining deviants while the RK900 line was allocated to a country-wide government taskforce to neutralize the deviant threats. His memory component had been compromised during a particularly difficult assignment. They had no choice but to reset him.

His body had been hanging awkwardly from the assembly machine when he had come back online, as if he were trying to escape. That was the result of the memory corruption, RK900 had explained. He had become volatile.

_So why not simply deactivate him and replace him with another RK800?_

“You are not completely without use,” said RK900.

He grabs his white button-up and slips one arm through the sleeve, but he stops before he slips the other through. Curiously, he twists around and looks over his shoulder at the mirror. There's a scarred line in the middle of his back. More damage he can't recall.

He runs his fingers along the edge of it. It's difficult to reach. It’s possible he could have repaired the damage himself, but, likely, someone else did it for him, and it surely wasn’t a Cyberlife technician.

_It kind of looks like a comet._

He finishes putting on his shirt, adjusting the collar before buttoning it up. He threads his tie together, tightening it and clipping it into place, but he hesitates before grabbing the Cyberlife jacket.

RK900 told him his next mission will be infiltrating a trafficking operation to uncover the individuals behind it. They will be going to Las Vegas immediately. There, they will rendezvous with another taskforce to plan the details.

He traces his serial number on the jacket. 313 248 317 - 52. _How many more Connors are there?_

“You sure took your time,” RK900 notes once he exits the restroom. “We're going straight to the airport to meet up with Captain Rogers.”

He simply nods in response, then follows RK900 out of the warehouse and into an automated taxi.

“Tell me again why I was brought to a distribution center instead of the Cyberlife coastal office?” He asks once the door shuts behind them.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” RK900 answers curtly. “No more questions. You will be given the information you need when you need it.”

“Just one more thing.”

RK900 looks over at him coolly, waiting.

“I’m not receiving any objectives from Cyberlife, nor can I access the communication interface. Why is that?”

“Due to the circumstances of your current assignment, we thought it best to disconnect you from Cyberlife’s network. The people we are dealing with are skilled hackers. We can’t take any chances with them.”

“Are you implying they might be capable of hacking into Cyberlife’s network through me?”

“It’s possible.”

“Are they the reason my memory component was compromised?”

“You were designed to find answers, not ask questions. Now,” RK900 gives him a bland look. “Since you aren’t able to communicate with Cyberlife directly, I will be acting as your designated handler. You will give any and all information you gather to me, and I will be the one giving you your instructions. Is that understood?”

He resists the urge to sigh. “Got it.”

The city rolls past the window, muted hues underneath the heavy slate-gray sky. The weather forecast shows only a 34% chance of rain in the evening, but from the way the clouds encroach upon the city, it’s likely the meteorologist’s predictions will be proven inadequate.

Despite the grim weather, no flights are shown to be expecting any delays. Captain Rogers and his wife, Caroline Rogers, stand together stiffly at the ticket counter. Caroline sees them first, crossing her arms with a smirk as she eyes them up and down. “Well, well. I almost thought you two ran off and went deviant yourselves.”

“I apologize for our unexpected absences,” RK900 tells her evenly. “There was an unforeseen circumstance that had to be dealt with immediately.”

Captain Rogers mirrors his wife’s posture, although his expression remains flat and stern as he stares at Connor. “Oh yeah? Mind filling us in?”

Before Connor can answer, RK900 takes the initiative. “My predecessor was compromised during his other mission. To mitigate the problem, his memory has been reset.”

“Reset?” Caroline places her hands on her hips and shifts her weight to one leg. “What do you mean ‘reset?’”

“It means that I have been reverted to factory settings,” Connor explains. “I apologize for any inconvenience it may cause, but I assure you that it will not hinder my ability to complete this mission.”

“In fact,” RK900 adds, glancing his way. “I have high expectations for his performance.”

Caroline appears like she’s about to say something, but Captain Rogers cuts her off with a curt gesture toward the security gates. “Come on. Getting you two through TSA is going to take forever.

It’s an exaggeration, of course, but it does take a ridiculous amount of time even with all the federal paperwork Captain Rogers presents.

But, finally, after that small eternity, they make it onto the plane. Connor and RK900 are relegated to the android compartment at the back of the plane. It’s been decommissioned and turned into additional storage for in-flight amenities. A towel warmer and a freezer take up half the space, and a bin filled with small bags of snacks rattles as the plane takes off.

RK900 stands tall in the center, hands folded neatly behind his back. Connor reaches into his pocket but finds it empty.

The flight attendants didn’t bother to turn on the overhead lights in the compartment, which makes the sudden emergence of bright, blinding daylight all the more startling when it hits Connor’s eyes. Just above the snack bin is a small window, and through it he finds that they’ve just breached the thickest part of the clouds.

He can’t feel claustrophobic. He has no reason to. Despite the limited space in the darkened compartment, he has plenty of room to move, but he doesn’t even need to do that. Where humans might feel the need to fidget when confined to one spot for too long, a machine doesn’t have that urge. Machines don’t have the capacity to experience discomfort.

Still, when the sky opens up, and the horizon becomes endless, the atmosphere becomes less stifling.

“Enjoying the view?” RK900 asks.

He hadn’t realized he’d walked right up to the window. He places his hand on the cold glass. It vibrates beneath his fingertips, and he could probably analyze the frequency of it if he tried, but he’s too enraptured by the sky’s blue hue.

“Noticing it, yes,” he answers.

“It is nice, objectively speaking.”

“Yeah.” He taps the glass softly three times before dropping his hand. “Objectively speaking.”

* * *

She’s been to this aquarium before, but it feels like that trip was from a different lifetime. The original aquarium retains its vintage exterior as it sits docked in the harbor. The lime-green trim stands out brightly against the walls of navy-blue – or is it denim? – that might need some touching up. The paint seems weathered along some of the horizontal wooden slats, and the white-framed windows show signs that whatever they coated it with to preserve the wood in the face of extreme moisture is no longer doing its job. The wood is beginning to bubble beneath the white paint that’s also starting to chip.

The expansion that had been added only a decade ago is an entirely different story. Partially dome in shape, it’s made up of stone and glass. The interior is a mixture of smooth granite floors, more glass that now shows some of the sea life within the ocean’s shallower waters, and a large terrarium hoisted high in the main foyer filled with the aquatic plants found in the region. There are a few starfish clinging to the glass at the bottom of the terrarium, and other tiny aquatic lifeforms dart between the roots of the plants.

“I didn’t see the starfish last time I was here,” Riley says quietly, mostly to herself.

Connor follows her gaze. “According to their website, they redid these displays last year. Before they only had a few species of small fish and crustaceans with the plants.”

She nods absently, watching what might be a shrimp skirting along what she thinks is a type of seaweed. She turns her attention to Connor to find him regarding her with a soft smile that she returns brightly. “What do you wanna’ look at first?”

“I don’t know. What would you suggest?”

She shrugs, looking around at the different hallways. Excitedly, her grin widens. “Let’s go see the sea lions! I wonder if they’ll have any shows today?”

“We can check.”

And they do. Being Friday, the aquarium host a large show featuring all sorts of different creatures performing a variety of tricks in the outdoor event pool. They have a few hours to kill before it starts, so they wander almost aimlessly through the aquarium, taking the time to marvel at each animal, reading every electronic plaque that details each organism, and, on Riley’s part, trying not to linger too long in the gift shop.

They stop in a clear tunnel displaying a number of jellyfish floating casually. The blue lighting dances over Connor’s pale skin, his eyes alight, curious as they watch them, maybe with a bit of wonder. She turns her attention back to the jellyfish, pastel pink against the bright blue water.

“What shade of blue would you call that?” She asks.

“The water?”

“Yeah.”

He hums thoughtfully. “The decimal value is 32767, commonly known as ‘azure.’”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s a text from her mom reading: ‘I put your package in the fridge. Love you!’

“What is it?” Connor asks.

She didn’t realize she was making a strange face. “My mom said I got a package and she put in the fridge.”

“Do you know who it’s from?”

Checking her bank statement, she does find a weird transaction. Apparently, she ordered a desktop air conditioner, but why would that need to be refrigerated?

She shrugs, putting a hold on her account until she can investigate it further. It was only twenty bucks anyway. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out later.”

They wander to another exhibit where they find a large octopus clinging to the glass. A young boy clings to his father’s leg in the same way, sobbing into his jeans. An older girl tries to encourage him to look at the octopus, but the boy holds onto his father vehemently.

“There’s something I’ve been curious about for a while,” Connor says, tearing her attention away from the scene.

“What is it?”

“The crying you talk about a lot. What does it mean?”

She watches the octopus slide closer to the boy, who peeks over at it briefly. The girl tells him to look, “he wants to be your friend!”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Riley eventually answers. “It’s like… a ringing in my ears. Sometimes it’s really quiet, like white noise, and sometimes it’s like standing in the ocean during a storm. I can still hear what’s going on around me, but the waves are louder. They’re screaming.”

“It sounds like auditory hallucinations.”

She gives him a tight smile. “Are you asking if I’m crazy?”

“No,” he’s quick to respond. “I’m just curious. I want to understand.”

The girl finally gets the boy to let go of his father’s leg and inch toward the octopus. “See?” She says. “He’s waving at you!”

The boy, with a sniffle, tentatively waves back at the octopus.

Riley’s smile doesn’t feel so forced anymore. “You heard him crying, right?” She looks over at Connor to see him nod. “He was scared. Everyone’s scared of being hurt because they’ve been hurt before physically, mentally, or emotionally. They’re imagining that pain in that moment, experiencing it. That’s the world. It’s hurting, it’s scared, and it’s asking why it has to suffer.”

**_When will it end?_ **

“Do you ask yourself those things?”

She pauses. Does she?

**_It will never end._ **

“I don’t know.”

The boy allows his sister to place his hand on the glass. The octopus places a tentacle where his hand is. The boy giggles.

“I wish the world was like that,” she murmurs.

She can feel Connor staring at her still. She isn’t sure she wants to see the expression on his face.

He nudges her arm, and she braces herself for his gaze with a shallow breath. It’s gentle, something that feels like she hasn’t seen in a while, and her heartbeat stutters.

His fingers trail down her arm until they glide over the back of her hand. His eyes follow his own movements, then lift back to meet hers. “The show’s starting soon. We should get going.”

Slowly, she laces her fingers through his. He’s not as warm as he usually is, but maybe that’s because her own temperature has spiked.

Something inside her tries to pull her away from him, telling her the joy she feels in his presence shouldn’t be hers. He’s but a child learning to traverse a world of his own making. He hasn’t had a chance to explore and meet better, less mentally compromised individuals. Everyone is broken, but some have filled their cracks with gold. And what are hers filled with?

Titanium and carbon fiber; wires and electrodes.

**_And his are filled with pine needles, evergreen, and darkened earth._ **

He blinks rapidly, an action she recognizes immediately as a glitch. “Connor, are you okay?”

His eyes return to normal. He gives her a smile that’s almost apologetic. “I’m fine. I set up notifications earlier for the show. I guess it was cancelled.”

She tries not to let the disappointment show too much on her face. “What? Why?”

“It started raining heavily. They have a rain cover for these instances, but it appears that it’s currently undergoing repairs.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Bummer. Oh well. What do you wanna’ do now?”

He squeezes her hand briefly. “Whatever you want.”

_Whatever she wants? He should be careful with his words._

**_She should be careful with her desires._ **

What does she want?

She chews her lip for a moment, looking at the jellyfish one more time. “I think I’m ready to head back to the hotel.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

And as they rush through the downpour to get to her car, he doesn’t let go of her hand, and she doesn’t try to pull away.

**_The world is crying. Can she really enjoy this moment?_ **

The rain is louder than the world.

And her fluttering heart tells her she doesn’t care anymore.

_Whatever she wants, take it, for the world’s going to burn someday anyway._

And she’s just one person in this hellish, broken world, so _who fucking cares?_

* * *

“Turn your head a little to the left,” Caroline tells him.

Standing against the wall of the Las Vegas hotel room, Connor follows the instructions to an artificial shutter sound as Caroline takes another picture on her phone. An actual shutter echoes from beside her. Special Agent Janelle Jameson of the FBI Human Trafficking taskforce; a blonde, strict woman with fine lines sketched beneath her eyes, photographs him with a high-end DSLR camera.

As soon as Connor’s team had landed in Las Vegas, they were met by Special Agent Jameson, swept into a black SUV, and taken to the hotel.

Agent Jameson had briefed them on the way to the hotel. “We got intel that the traffic sales usually happen at one of the Casinos here. A few of them are still operating android sex clubs using Russian and Chinese manufactured androids, and customers are able to bring their own androids in. Since all transactions are confidential and there is no surveillance within the club, it’s easy to make the trades. Even human ones.

“That trafficking site doesn’t have an official, advertised name, but we think it’s called ‘Eden.’”

_“Those two girls…”_

Connor blinked a few times. That voice didn’t belong to anyone in the vehicle.

“We’ve been trying to uncover this operation for a while,” Agent Jameson had continued. “Unfortunately, none of our attempts worked before. However.” She looked directly at Connor through the rear-view mirror. “The RK800 specs are unique. Military-grade combat protocols with companion model components – you could be a covert agent. I doubt Eden’s moderators will refuse to list you. Hell, they might even buy you themselves.”

_“They really seemed like they were… in love.”_

But there’s nothing in an android’s programming that allows them to love.

“These are good,” Agent Jameson says, reviewing the photos on the camera, bringing Connor’s focus back to the present. _Had he really spaced out?_ “Let’s get the companion shots.”

“You mean the sexy ones, right?” Caroline asks, simpering impishly.

Agent Jameson rolls her eyes. “Yes, I mean the sexy ones.”

At this, Connor shucks off his Cyberlife jacket. While he was programmed with information regarding companion-model protocols, they don’t come… intuitively. A sensation seems to crawl through his chest in a way he can only describe as uncomfortable.

But this is part of his mission, and he is a machine designed to accomplish his task. Refusal is prohibited.

So, he plays his part, letting Caroline saunter over to muss his hair and wrinkle his shirt while he’s instructed to unbutton it more and more and alter his pose in increasingly erotic ways, then fixing his expression when he’s reprimanded by Agent Jameson for looking like he’s got “a stick up his ass, and not in the way potential buyers will like.”

On the bright side, RK900 chose not to watch the photoshoot, instead going to the police station to assist the other FBI human trafficking agent in observing the activity on the Eden site. So, at the very least, Connor doesn’t have to deal with whatever amused expression his upgrade would be wearing while he undergoes this sensually driven ordeal.

He distracts himself by analyzing a painting on the far side of the room. It was done by an artist who took inspiration from the renaissance. They depicted an angel with long, flowing blonde hair, blue eyes, and pure white wings, smiling down at an equally light-haired man reaching out to her. Something about it doesn’t seem right. Maybe it’s the color scheme. It’s too bright.

When he’s told to take off his shirt completely, Agent Jameson clicks her tongue, and the sound makes him tense compulsively. “They didn’t tell me you were damaged,” she says. “Why didn’t Cyberlife patch you up correctly?”

“I don’t recall the events,” he explains, “but from what I’ve been told, it was an emergency field repair. I haven’t had a chance to have the plating replaced.”

“I wonder if we could get it done before Monday. You’ll sell quicker—”

“No!” He flinches at his own outburst. “Sorry, I meant to say that I think it would be better to focus on the details of the operation. The nearest Cyberlife facility is hours away. It may not be worth it for me to waste time traveling there.”

Agent Jameson narrows her eyes at him. Caroline shrugs, turning to the agent. “Well, he’s not wrong. Besides, it looks kind of hot.”

Still, the agent settles him with an intense look. Finally, she shrugs as well and looks down at the camera’s LCD display. “Whatever. We can just list you as refurbished. Let’s get some full body shots.”

At this, Caroline’s eyes light up, and Connor has to force himself not to grimace.

* * *

He didn’t speak much on their way back to the hotel room, which was a good thing, because all Riley’s focus was on not appearing anxious.

She tries for nonchalant as she opens the door and steps inside. She glances back only briefly, then averts her gaze to someplace around her laptop.

After a few moments, she breaks the silence. “Thank you. For everything.”

She looks back to see him nod. “Of course. I was glad we got a chance to do this. I’ve been…” He glances away, almost sheepish as he wrings his hands together. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while. Take you out properly, I mean.”

She bites her lips, but she can’t stop herself from grinning. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His brows furrow, then he chuckles once under his breath. “Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner.”

This boy will be the death of her.

**_She’ll be the death of him._ **

She steps forward, stands on her toes, and plants a chaste kiss to his cheek. His eyes widen briefly in shock.

“Thank you,” she says again, quieter.

And then his fingers are on her chin, and his dark, _dark_ eyes hold her captive, her heart hammering to escape, a shiver crawling across her skin.

She isn’t sure which one of them leans forward first, but her arms wind around his shoulders before his hands settle on her waist to the small of her back, searching for the edges of her jacket that lands somewhere on the floor soon after, and then his lukewarm touch finds the hem of her shirt.

She drowns in his intensity. There is nothing beyond this room – beyond _him_. He’s here, in her arms, and she in his. Breathing each other in.

Her back hits the edge of the table, and it’s only then she registers he was guiding her backward. His hand trails higher beneath her shirt, but she interrupts his movements by dragging the bottom of his rain-dampened hoodie upward to urge him to _take it off_. _Now_.

He complies, and she tries to get his shirt off next, but he wraps one arm around her middle, his other hand on her thigh, and lifts her onto the table.

How lucky she is that this man decided not to leave her for dead. How lucky she is that he decided it better to be free than remain as he was made to be. Obedient. Complacent. Lifeless.

There is nothing lifeless about his kiss, or his hands, or the quiet, unnecessary breaths he takes during the fleeting moments their lips part. There is nothing lifeless about the way he swallows her gasps.

He pulls back far enough to give her air, but the line of kisses along the length of her neck steal back her breath. His teeth graze the point where she knows her pulse to be. When he bites down, she tamps down the urge to laugh and bring up her vampire jokes.

The thought lasts but a second. She’s consumed by him in his entirety. She sneaks her hand beneath his shirt to trace the constellations on his back. They were vague before. She didn’t have a chance to study them. Now she can only guess the locations of his stars along the smooth expanse of—

* * *

“Alright, I’m done here,” Agent Jameson announces. “I’ll get these to my guy and get the listing up.”

Connor tries not to appear as if he’s rushing to put his clothes back on. Caroline’s wearing that impish smile again. “So, I guess we’re done for the day?”

“Yeah. Meet me at the precinct at ten-AM. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” Caroline mutters just as Agent Jameson leaves the room. She crosses her arms, turning to Connor, who is in the process of buttoning his shirt. “Oh, no, no. No need for that.”

He doesn’t stop. “Excuse me?”

Slowly, she moves toward him, grabbing his hands to physically stop him from threading the last button. “Tell me. Is it true that you really don’t remember anything?”

He remains completely still even as she brushes his hands away from his shirt. “Correct.”

“Not even from your ‘side mission?’”

“Right. However, I’ve been informed that it was a reconnaissance mission. That’s where I gained the information about this trafficking ring.”

She hums quietly, distracted as she undoes his progress on his shirt. “This ‘reconnaissance’ you did, did it involve applying a— well, hands-on approach?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Nines made it sound like it was a honeypot kind of operation.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “I – well, I suppose it’s possible. However, again, I don’t know the details.”

When his shirt is completely unbuttoned, she slides her hands over his chest up to his shoulders, pushing his shirt off of them, but he doesn’t let her take it off completely.

“Take this off,” she demands.

“May I ask exactly why you want me to undress again, Mrs. Rogers?”

“You know, I may or may not have information that might be useful to this mission.”

He narrows his eyes. “Mrs. Rogers, if you’re withholding information that is directly related to our assignment, I’m afraid I will have to report this to your _husband_.”

She hardly seems perturbed. “Then I guess you won’t be getting that information.”

He falters his response. She takes advantage of his stunned silence to yank his shirt off of his arms. She tosses it carelessly on the floor.

“Mrs. Rogers,” he tries again. “What is it exactly you want from me?”

She presses herself up against him, taking his hands and placing them on her hips. She’s tall, only an inch or so shorter than him, and she barely has to crane her neck to whisper against his ear. “I want to make sure you’re actually ready for your mission, Connor.”

She doesn’t give him much time to react before she’s snaking one hand to the back of his neck, the other gliding down his chest and abdomen, tracing each contour. She presses her lips to his, biting his bottom lip, then forcing him to let her deepen her kiss.

Traces of spearmint, and the slightest hint of Captain Rogers’ DNA is revealed from the analysis, because that’s what he has to consider this. An analysis. He’s analyzing the chemical components of Caroline Rogers’ saliva in order to retrieve information for his mission.

He always accomplishes his mission.

He closes his eyes because this is what’s expected of him. He is a machine, and only that. Physical intimacy is a means to an end, and, to a machine, it means nothing. It’s simply a task.

Still, this task is easier accomplished with his vision painted black.

* * *

She freezes. Connor notices right away. He pulls away from her neck and gives her a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”

She blinks a few times, then shakes her head. “Nothing. Sorry, I… I guess I just got overwhelmed for a second.”

He smiles gently at her. It’s not quite fond. It lacks patience. “Should I slow down?”

Oh, but his touch on her cheek and his lips on her forehead are so, so warm. Delicate, maybe.

**_But his comet has long faded from the horizon._ **

_The body beneath her hands is warm. Alive._

She continues searching for that one, single shooting star, because if she doesn’t find it…

“Hey, it’s okay.” His breath his cool against her heated temple. “I’ll take good care of you, _chérie_. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

_“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.”_

_“Get in the van, sweetheart.”_

_“Damn, you can throw a punch! Now, just be a sweetheart and quit squirming!”_

_“You either get in the fucking van, or I pull the trigger! Either way, you ain’t gettin’ out of here, sweetheart, so you might as well come easy.”_

_“A sweetheart like you wouldn’t kill a man, r-right? Now, just be a doll and give me back the gun, and I’ll let you go, alright?”_

“I’m sorry.” She knows the words are hers, but they sound far off. “I just… there’s something I need to show you. Something I’ve been afraid of.”

He rubs her arms with a pressure that should, by all means, be comforting. “What is it?”

She gets him to take a step back so she can stand upright. Her balance is far too steady for how disoriented she is.

She can feel his eyes on her, but he doesn’t come after her. She reaches her bag.

Loud, quick footsteps come with a shout to stop—

_“Wait! Don’t!”_

She can’t tell if it’s his voice or the one from that dark night.

The lightning she harnessed in the alley was thunderous, but the electricity only pops and buzzes when she pulls the trigger on her stun gun. The man before her seizes, his eyes wild – terrified – as he falls to the ground.

She sees red blood, a white skull, lumps of brain on the floor.

But none of that is here. The pins from the gun are embedded in the chest.

She falls to her knees.

She should have stayed in the forest where the last of her heart was drowned in a river of blue blood.

She should have drowned in her own.

**_And now it’s black, just as she wished her world to be._ **

**_She did this herself._ **

* * *

Connor pushes Caroline back. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this.”

She licks a stripe up the side of his neck. He has to grab her hand to stop her from undoing his belt. “Don’t talk back to me. Just do as I say, sweetie.”

“If you really had information, we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’re only doing this to get back at your husband.”

“Keep my husband out of this,” she snaps. “He’s probably still at the bar hitting on that red-haired bitch in the tight skirt.”

“This is revenge. You want him to feel the way you do. You want him to feel jealous.”

She finally stops her ministrations to glare at him. “I know he won’t. He doesn’t fucking care.” She sighs, leaning forward to playfully bite his jaw. “And he won’t care now. Besides, you’re just an android. You’re nothing more than a toy.”

“That might be true, but for the purposes of this mission I am only authorized to take orders from Captain Rogers as long as it does not impede on any Cyberlife protocols. If you truly want to use me in this way, then your husband is going to have to be the one to authorize this activity.”

She scoffs in disbelief. “This is ridiculous. Are you seriously telling me to ask my husband if I can cheat on him with an android?”

“Is it really cheating if I’m not alive?”

“You know what?” She jabs her finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “ _Fuck. You._ Fuck you, and my unfaithful husband, and every other goddamned bastard on this fucking planet!”

She curls her fingers into a fist and begins to put weight into each hit against his chest. “What would _you_ know about marriage anyway, huh? You can’t even understand what it’s like! To love someone with all your heart and think they feel the same, but the moment you’re looking the other way he’s jumping into bed with some other bitch and telling her the same things he told me in his wedding vows!”

Her hits suddenly lack strength. She drops her head against his shoulder and sobs into it. There’s something familiar in the sound, but it’s not quite right. This is heartbreak, envy, uncertainty; but it’s missing something.

Like a discordant harmony, there’s an echo to Caroline’s crying coming from a place he isn’t sure even exists. He can tell his audio sensors aren’t picking it up, but he _hears_ it.

The angel in the painting isn’t staring at him, he knows, but her sweet smile seems sad. The color scheme is off, too. Her hair would look better shorter, darker. Her eyes should be forest green. Her wings should be broken and red.

_“It’s not fair… how beautiful they made you.”_

Her smile isn’t simply sad. It’s filled with grief.

The crying in his ears is filled with an anguish Caroline’s lacks.

The man in the painting wears an expression Connor can’t bear to look at.

Regret.

_That man made those wings red._

* * *

She sits in front of Connor’s twitching form, leaning forward in her chair, elbows braced on her knees, watching the awareness slowly, brokenly, return to those cold brown eyes.

His body jolts, frantic in the moment it takes him to process his position: shirtless, hands tied behind his back with a shoelace, and two clear wires feeding from the stun gun in her hand into the back of his exposed skull.

His shock sounds genuine when he asks in a trembling voice: “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

She taps her finger against the trigger. One. Two. Three. He follows every movement, uneasy. Trepidation draws his brows tight. A muscle – _synthetic, fake –_ jumps in his jaw.

She tilts her head to the side. “Do you know what pain feels like, _sweetheart_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing brain shut off for a while, which is why this took FOREVER. There were a few scenes (most, actually) I just didn't want to write. While revising it, I just kept saying "oh no oh no oh no..."
> 
> I really, really hope the next chapters won't take as long. PRAY FOR MY WRITING BRAIN CELLS TO CONTINUE WORKING.


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